WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS 


A     SOMEWHAT     BUSY     LIFE. 


"  Seekest  thou  grout  things  for  thyself.'     Seek  them  not."  — JKH.  xlv.  5. 


BY    JOHN     NEAL. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS      BROTHER  S. 
1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1801J,  by 

ROBERTS    BKOTIIERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusett- 


CAMBRIDGK: 

PHKSP   OK    JOHN    WILSON    AND   PON. 


In  compliance  with  current  copyright 

law,  U.  C.  Library  Bindery  produced 

this  replacement  volume  on  paper 

that  meets  the  ANSI  Standard  Z39.48- 

1984  to  replace  the  irreparably 

deteriorated  original. 

1993 


PREFACE. 


I  AM  called  upon  for  a  Preface.  Like  the  "weary  knife- 
grinder,"  whi'ii  asked  for  a  story,  I  am  half  tempted  to 
answer,  "Preface!  God  bless  you!  I've  none  to  give, 
sir  ! '' 

My  book  itself  is  only  a  Preface.  And  what,  after  all,  is 
any  Life  but  a  preface  ?  —  a  preface  to  something  better  —  or 
worse  ? 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  I  think  it  safer  for  me,  and  better 
for  the  reader,  whom  I  hope  to  be  on  good  terms  with,  before 
he  gets  through,  whatever  may  be  his  present  notions  upon 
the  subject,  not  to  trouble  him  with  a  Preface. 

J.  N. 

PORTLAND,  ME.,  May  10,  1869. 


CON  T  E  N  T  S. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Getting  underway;    "Battle  of  Niagara":  John  Pierpont;    "  Ooldau ;  "  Their 
First  Appearance   .     .  


CHAPTER   II. 

Parentage  and  Family;  Second-Sight  and  Apparitions;    Origin  of  the  Final  E 

in  my  Name  ;  Tough  Stories 11 


CHAPTER   III. 

Incidents  of  Childhood  ;  Revelations  of  Character ;  Oratory;  Declamation.     .     .      23 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Glimmering  Phantasmagoria  ;  More  Incidents  of  Childhood  ;  "  Federal  Repub 
lican  "  and  Baltimore  >l  Telegraph  ;  "  Maiden  Speech  ;  Preparations  for  the 
Bar ;  Private  Theatricals  ;  the  Delphians  ;  Dr.  Tobias  Watkins 35 

CHAPTER  V. 

Weatherwise  ;  Baltimore  Debating  Society :  First  Speech  there  ;  Defence  of  Quali 
fied  Slavery  :  Woman's  Rights  ;  Law  Argument  on  Magna  Charta  in  London ; 
Debates  in  Jeremy  Bentham's  Library:  Mill,  Grote,  Roebuck,  and  others; 
London  Debating  Society  ;  Woman's  Rights 48 

CHAPTER   VI. 

QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT* 

Childish  Fisticuffs  :  Boyish  ditto:  Serious  Controversies  :  Disowned  by  the  Quak 
ers,  and  why  ;  Sparring  over  Sea ;  My  Last  Quarrels  there  and  here,  I  hope  .  65 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

SPIRITUAL    GROWTH. 

Quaker  Preaching  :  Univcrsalism  :  A  Troubled  Conscience  ;  Sprouting  of  Meta 

physics  ;  Language  ;  Free-agency      ...............      88 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

SELF  -EDUCATION*. 

Absurdities  of  English  Grammar  ;  First  Essays  in  Drawing  and  Painting  ;  Mis 
cellaneous  Reading  :  Mortification;  French.  Spanish,  and  other  Languages; 
Outline  of  Study  ;  Literary  Labors  ;  Sparring,  Fencing,  and  Gymnastics  .  104 

CHAPTER   IX. 

BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE. 

Peddling  Small  Wares  ;  Manufacture  of  Lollipop  ;  Smooth  Shaving  :  Tricks  of 
Trade;  Downright  Cheating:  Counterfeit  Money;  Idling;  Pistol-shoot 
ing;  Penmanship;  Indian-ink  Miniatures  ;  Boston  .........  118 

CHAPTER   X. 

BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED. 

Boston  Shopkeeping  :  New  Business  Arrangements  ;  John  Pierpont  ;  Our  First 
Acquaintance  :  Jobbing  ;  New  York  ;  Smuggling  :  Boston  Copartnerships  ; 
Pierpont  and  Lord  ;  Charleston  Store,  S.C.  ;  Adventures  in  Business  at  Bal 
timore  .  .  ......................  137 


CHAPTER   XL 

LAW    AND    LITERATURE. 

Breaking  up  and  Separation  :  Law  Studies  at  Baltimore  ;  Prospects  ;  First  News 
paper  Essay  ;  The  Delphians  ;  First  Novel  ;  Others  ;  Range  of  Study  for  an 
American  Lawyer  ;  lieturn  to  Portland,  Me.,  and  set  my  Trap  as  a  Lawyer  .  160 


CHAPTER   XII. 

LITERARY    GROWTH:    SPROUTING,    FLOWER,    AND    FRUITAGE. 

Budding  Efflorescence:   Mr.  Pierpont's  Notions:   "Niagara"  and   "  Goldau  ;  " 

Review  of  Byron's  Works  ;  More  about  my  First  Novel  ;  How  it  was  received    183 


CONTEXTS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED. 

•Juninsnnt  Identified:"  '•  Allen's  Revolution  :  v  Paul  Alien  and  Dr.  Watkius  ; 

Ilezckiah  Nile;;  and  the  Index  to  his  Register:  Criticisms  of  the  Day     .          .     201 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

OFF    TO    ENGLAND. 

Progress  of  Portland:  The  Building  Loan:  My  o\vn  Opinion  of  Myself  and  of  my 
Doinirs  :  Reminiscences  of  "  Seventy-six  :  "  "  Logan  :  "  "  Randolph  :  "  Ijn- 
pt iMinnient  !<>r  Dctit  :  Slavery:  Tin'  Pinkney  Correspondence  and  Results; 
Duels;  Flash  in  the  Pan  ;  My  First  Night  in  London 220 


CHAPTER   XV. 

LONDON   EXPERIENCES. 

Trials  of  , \ntliorship:  "  P>l:irkwood."  and  the  Monthlies  and  Qunrtorlics  :  Vng- 
ahond  Ktu'li>hiiifii  :  "  Brother  Jonathan  :"  T.  Cain|d,-li :  .Icfhvy  :  "Ni- 
a^ara."  and  the  Fierce  (irav  liird  :  Navlor.  M  ('.  :  Colonel  Uaker :  Solicitor 
Parkes :  More  Vagabond  Englishmen  .' 244 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

DIFFERENCE    BE1AVEEN    SUBSTANTIAL    TRUTH    AND    CIRCUMSTANTIAL 
TRUTH. 

Examples  and  Illustrations  :  Mr.  John  Bowrinir.  before  he  was  an  LL.D.  or 
Knighted:  Sketch  of  his  Character,  from  Life,  with  Anecdotes:  '' Westmin 
ster'  Review  :"  His  Cleverness,  and  Craft,  and  Shortsightedness;  Jeremy 
Hcntham  :  Bowrin^r's  Notions  of  Patronage  :  His  Bargains  with  me,  and  the 
Consequences:  Solicitor  Parkes  :  Sir  Rowland  Hill;  Mr.  Black,  of  the 
"  Morning  Chronicle  ;"  John  Stuart  Mill 270 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MR.    JEFFREY    AND    THE    "EDINBURGH    REVIEW.", 

Our  Correspondence,  and  what  followed:  Mr.  John  Austin  :  His  Wife:  Her  First 
Literarv  Adventure:  Jeremy  Bentham  :  A  Gigantic  Myth:  His  Editor  Du- 
niont :  Dumont's  Connection  with  Mirabean :  Sir  Samuel  Komilly  :  Ben- 
tham's  Housekeeper:  He  brings  her  to  'J'erms :  Changes  everywhere  in 
Legislation  and  Jurisprudence  :  Civil  and  Criminal  Procedure:  all  owing  to 
Bentham:  Aaron  Burr:  Suniner  Lincoln  Fairfield  :  Mr.  Pelby  the  Actor; 
Mr.  Coke  of  Norfolk,  afterward  Earl  of  Leicester:  John  Dunn  Hunter; 
Chester  Harding  and  his  First  Portraits 296 


yiii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

PARIS. 

Pistol-shooting:  Great  Discovery  :  "  Nigger  "  Shooting  by  a  Careful  Man  ;  Adven 
ture  with  a  French  Braggart;  How  the  Conceit  was  taken  out  of  me  at 
Angelo's  Rooms,  London  :  and  how  the  Conqueror  got  his  "  Come-ups  :  " 
Propositions  of  Major  Noah  ;  Poor  Graham :  Law  Library  ordered  to  New 
York:  Combination  to  drive  me  out  of  Portland;  Street  Squabbles:  Hand 
bills;  The  Hon.  Stephen  Jones,  M.D.  :  Deadly  Prejudice;  Origin  thereof; 
Declared  a  Lunatic  by  Proclamation:  Establish  Gymnasia;  Teach  Boxing 
and  Fencing  ;  Abolitionists  put  to  their  Trumps  ....  .  ...  315 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

Settled  in  Portland;  The  "Yankee:"  Chief-Justice  Appleton :  Edgar  A.  Poe, 
and  others:  Buckingham  and  the  "New-England  Galaxy:"  Our  Quarrel; 
Become  Editor  of  the  "  Galaxy  ; "  Francis  0.  J.  Smith  and  the  Eastern 
"Argus:"  James  Brooks:  Office-hunting ;  City  Government  of  Portland; 
Mr.  Neal  Dow;  Lotteries;  Narrow  Escape  from  the  State- Prison  :  Periodi 
cals;  Favorable  Change  of  Public  Opinion  :  General  Fessenden  ;  Lecturing  ; 
Extern poraneous  and  Written  Addresses:  Marriage;  Quarrying  for  Gold; 
Building ;  Lacquered  Ware  banished  ;  Examples 336 

CHAPTER   XX. 

TEMPERANCE. 

The  Maine  Liw :  Neal  Dow ;  Gin :  Rum-cherries :  Used  for  a  Decoy ;  Malaga ; 
Vidonia ;  Boston  Trials:  Baltimore;  Abroad;  Wine-cellar:  temperance 
Controversy:  Public  Meetings:  Debates:  Maine  Law :  Neal  Dow :  The  City 
Engineer;  The  "True  Story;"  Grog-shops  and  Pvow-de-dows ;  Evasions  of 
the  Law  ;  State  Convention 363 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Phrenology ;  Animal  Magnetism ;  Spiritualism ;  The  Death-penalty ;  Modest 
Men  :  Painters  and  Paintings ;  Growth  of  Portland ;  James  Neal ;  Stephen 
Neal;  The  Will-case:  Ensrineering  of  Mr.  Neal  Dow;  Guardian  of  Stephen 
Neal:  Garrison:  Mob  in  Portland  :  Park  and  Tammany  Hall :  Abolitionists  ; 
General  Fe-=send<-n  :  Debates  ;  Woman's  Flights  :  Lecture  in  the  Tabernacle  ; 
New  York :  Debates  there ;  Kowdy-dows,  and  Death  of  Poor  Ilobbins ; 
Mutual  Benefit  Life  Insurance  Company;  Cairo,  111. ;  Mrs.  Pierce  and  Gail 
Hamilton:  Rev.  Mr.  Chambers;  Woman  -  suffrage :  Objections  answered; 
Mr.  Pierpont  and  the  "Two-penny  Post-bag;  "  Sum  Total 


AFTKR-THOUOHTP 423 


WAXDEKIXG    RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

BY  WAY   OF   INTRODUCTION. 

ORIGIN    OF    ''NIAGARA  AND   GOLDAU:"    INDEX    TO   NILES'S  REGISTER;  REV. 
MR.    OILMAN;    KEY.    JOHN   IMKRl'ONT. 

AUG.  25.  1800.  —  On  this,  my  seventy-third  birthday,  and 
one  of  the  pleasantest  I  ever  knew.  I  have  begun,  lor  the 
fourth  time,  to  give  some  account  of  myself. 

A  strange  fatality  has  delayed,  year  after  year,  the  fulfil 
ment  of  a  promise  made  in  18.~>9,  immediately  after  the 
appearance  of  "  True  Womanhood  ;  "  though  I  went  to  work 
that  very  day,  at  the  suggestion  of  my  friend  Longfellow, 
and  persevered,  until,  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth,  I  found  I 
was  in  a  fair  way  of  making  too  much  of  a  good  thing,  of 
going  too  last  and  too  far ;  having  conjured  up  about  a 
volume  of  these  wandering  recollections,  without  having 
passed  the  threshold  of  a  strange,  busy,  and  somewhat  ad 
venturous  life.  AVhereupon,  I  threw  the  manuscript  aside, 
contenting  myself,  at  last,  with  verifying  some  of  the  inci 
dents  narrated,  in  a  more  familiar  way,  and  greatly  abridging 
the  rest. 

But  "l  still  the  wonder  grew."  And  as  many  interruptions 
had  occurred,  so  that  I  could  not  always  remember  what  I 
had  written,  I  fell  into  repetitions,  which  I  had  no  patience 
with,  after  they  were  discovered;  and  so  I  flung  the  whole 
aside  once  more,  and  began  afresh,  with  a  higher  purpose,  and 
had  just  about  finished  another  moderate-sized  volume,  to 
begin  with,  when  the  great  fire  of  last  July  occurred,  which 
destroyed  within  a  single  hour,  not  only  all  my  law-books 
and  office  library  and  furniture,  together  with  two  dwelling- 


2  WAtfDEEING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

hvifbs,  a  fiva-scory  brick  mill,  and  two  large  warehouses, 
though  widely  separated,  and  in  different  parts  of  the  town, 
but  most  of  my  hoarded  manuscripts,  letters,  memoranda, 
and  uniquities  —  not  iniquities  —  I  wish  it  had  —  the  ac 
cumulation  of  more  than  fifty  years  ;  leaving  me,  of  all 
my  treasures,  nothing  but  a  charred  copy  of  '"  Niagara  and 
Goldau,"  which  a  friend  of  mine  had  picked  up  somewhere  — 
I  know  not  where  —  and  sent  me  not  long  before,  upon  the 
express  condition,  that  after  my  death,  it  should  be  returned 
to  him. 

This  I  had  carefully  put  away  in  a  safe,  which  was  be 
lieved  to  be  both  burglar-proof  and  fire-proof,  under  ordinary 
circumstances.  My  own  copy  of  these  two  poems  had  been 
abstracted  —  borrowed  without  leave  —  by  my  amiable  and 
enterprising  friend,  General  Bratish,  Count  Eliovich,  &c.,  &c., 
&c.,  years  before  ;  and  I  knew  not  where  to  go  for  another. 

Although  plucked  "  like  a  brand  from  the  burning  "  where 
huge  blocks  of  granite  crumbled,  and  cast-iron  melted  and 
fell  in  splashes  upon  the  pavement,  when  struck  by  the  fiery 
blast;  although  literally  taken  out  of  the  hot  embers,  like 
another  Triptolemus,  undergoing  immortality,  —  the  pages 
may  still  be  deciphered,  as  though  printed  on  asbestos,  and 
packed  together,  as  if  under  a  heavy  pressure,  and  charred 
through  and  through. 

Not  another  fragment  was  found  of  all  that  I  had  lodged 
in  that  confounded  safe  —  a  plague  on  all  such  safes,  I  say  !  — 
except  a  little  scrap  of  Russian-leather  binding,  not  larger 
than  your  thumb-nail,  with  my  name  on  it  in  gold  letters, 
and  nothing  more,  as  if  it  were  intended  to  settle  the  ques 
tion  of  proprietorship,  and  lead  to  the  restoration  of  my  little 
book ;  for,  misled  by  a  similarity  of  size  and  appearance,  I 
had  overlooked  my  own  safe,  and  forced  open  another,  only 
to  find  the  core  turned  to  ashes,  like  that  of  the  dead  sea- 
apple  we  hear  so  much  of. 

After  three  such  failures,  just  when  I  had  got  fairly  a-going, 
it  may  well  be  supposed  that  my  ardor  was  somewhat  damp 
ened.  Still  I  was  not  discouraged.  On  the  contrary,  I  saw 
that,  at  my  age,  I  had  no  time  to  lose,  and  I  determined  to 
undertake  the  job  anew,  and  with  more  earnestness  than 
ever ;  for  a  job  it  would  be,  at  the  best,  for  any  man  to  go  over 


BY    WAY    OF    INTRODUCTION.  3 

a  long  life,  and  tell  the  truth  of  himself,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth  —  even  though  he  might  fall  short  of  telling  the  whole 
truth  ;  for  who  that  lives  could  do  that,  even  for  a  single 
hour,  though  put  upon  oath,  under  a  question  of  life  and 
death  ? 

Yet  more :  calling  to  mind  what  Longfellow  wrote  me 
when  "  True  Womanhood  "  appeared,  —  that,  inasmuch  as  my 
pen  had  found  its  wav  to  the  inkstand  once  more,  he  hoped  I 
should  continue  at  the  work,  remembering  that, — 

"What  to-day  is  not  becrun, 
Will  to-morrow  not  be  done,"  — 

I  have  succeeded  in  persuading  myself,  that,  as  the  charred 
trees  in  my  neighborhood  are  already  gushing  out  with  a 
sort  of  tropical  richness,  after  the  liery  baptism  the1}*  have  so 
lately  undergone,  and  hanging  up  their  narrow  pennons  of 
scorched  bark,  '•  torn  and  flving,"  from  their  topmost  branches, 
to  the  rough  winds  of  approaching  winter,  so  may  the  pur 
poses  and  thoughts,  which  have  so  long  occupied  my  attention, 
be  mellowed  into  something  better  and  worthier,  and  perhaps 
make  a  braver  .show  at  last,  because  of  these  very  hinderances, 
and  scorching  disappointments. 

JVor.  14.  —  Not  another  paragraph,  not  another  word,  have 
I  found  time  to  add  since  the  25th  of  August.  With  no  less 
than  six  new  buildings  under  way  at  the  same  time,  and  all 
to  be  finished  and  ready  for  occupation  before  the  snow 
flies  —  X.  P>.  It  is  flying  now!  —  to  say  nothing  of  repairs 
and  alterations  ;  with  labor  and  materials  doubled  in  price, 
and  a  new  city  rising  about  me  "like  an  exhalation,"  and  far 
more  beautiful  than  ever, — it  may  well  be  supposed  that  I 
have  precious  little  time  for  self-indulgence,  or  literary  dissi 
pation,  though  I  have  managed  to  throw  off,  now  and  then,  a 
magazine  article  or  two.  under  the  pressure  of  urgent  solici 
tation. 

Thoughts  I  have  had,  to  be  sure,  and  thoughts  worth  pre 
serving  perhaps,  relating  to  my  past  life  ;  and  yet,  however 
unpleasant  it  may  be  to  have  them  perish  of  neglect  or  for- 
getfulness,  I  have  an  idea  that  they  had  better  ripen  to  burst 
ing,  like  all  other  wholesome  natural  fruit,  than  be  gathered 
too  soon. 


4  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Last  night,  and  the  night  before,  we  were  promised  what  I 
have  been  waiting  for  ever  since  1833,  when  my  friend  Pier- 
pont,  who  has  lately  taken  a  new  departure  in  his  upward 
striving,  was  \yith  me  at  Niagara,  and  the  heavens  rained  fire 
upon  us,  and  the  stars  fell  by  thousands  about  our  way,  while 
we  were  both  sound  asleep,  heedless  alike  of  the  tempestuous 
brightness  above,  arid  the  prodigious  uproar  below,  of  warring 
constellations  and  tumbling  oceans — the  landlord  not  liking 
to  disturb  us,  he  said ;  but  now  it  would  seem  that  we  are  to 
be  disappointed,  the  wondrous  exhibition  being  indefinitely 
postponed,  so  that  I  may  have  to  wait  until  we  can  see  it 
together,  as  we  did  Niagara,  by  the  merest  accident,  after 
having  tried  in  vain  for  many  a  long  year  to  do  so.  Never 
theless  I  am  in  no  hurry.  Life  has  not  yet  become  a  weari 
ness,  nor  a  burden.  I  have  been  wonderfully  favored.  My 
natural  strength  has  not  much  abated  :  desire  has  not  failed, — 
the  desire,  at  least,  of  being  happy  myself,  and  of  making 
others  happy  ;  and  I  am  willing  to  wait  until  the  silver  cord  is 
loosened  and  the  golden  bowl  is  broken  for  ever,  in  the  pre- 
appoiuted  way. 

And  here  it  may  not  be  wholly  out  of  place  for  me  to  give 
some  account  of  the  two  poems  "  Niagara  "  and  "  Goldau," 
to  which  I  have  already  referred.  Both  were  suggested  by 
Mr.  Pierpont,  within  a  few  months  at  furthest,  after  I  had 
begun  the  study  of  law,  and  was  trying  to  earn  a  livelihood 
with  my  pen,  and  to  pay  my  way  honestly,  by  hard  work,  as 
I  always  have  done,  from  that  day  to  this.  I  forget  which 
was  first ;  but  I  remember  well  that  I  threw  off  "  Goldau  " 
in  less  than  forty-eight  hours  after  the  suggestion  was  first 
made,  to  the  astonishment,  and  perhaps  I  might  say  to  the 
consternation,  of  my  friend,  who  was  in  labor  at  that  very 
time  with  the  "Airs  of  Palestine,"  bringing  forth  now  and 
then  a  few  couplets  —  twins — with  agonizing  throes,  while 
I  was  lanching  my  red-hot  thunderbolts,  like  meteors,  by 
scores  or  hundreds  ;  though  it  was  greatly  enlarged,  and  I 
hope  somewhat  improved,  before  it  was  allowed  to  blaze 
forth  in  public. 

He  came  into  my  chamber  one  day,  bringing  with  him  a 
copy  of  Buckuiiuster's  "  Travels "  or  "  Letters,"  I  forget 
which.  "  Here  is  something  that  will  just  suit  you,"  said  he ; 


r,Y    WAY    OF    INTRODUCTION.  5 

"  a  capital  subject  for  a  poem  ;  and  you  are  the  very  boy  to 
do  it  into  English  verse."  lie  then  read  Buckminster's  de- 
scription  of  the  Valley,  and  his  account  of  the  catastrophe. 
It  was.  indeed,  a  tremendous  picture.  —  the  destruction  of  a 
whole  community,  at  sunset,  without  notice,  by  a  moun 
tain-slide.  I  felt  uplifted  from  the  earth,  as  the  plan  I 
adopted  began  to  shape  itself  before  me.  flash  after  flash  ; 
and  before  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away  along  the 
sidewalk,  the  poem  was  fairly  under  way ;  and  completed, 
I  think,  within  the  time  I  have  mentioned,  or,  at  any  rate, 
within  two  or  three  days,  at  farthest. 

And  so  with  the  ••  Battle  of  Niagara,"  which,  but  for  him, 
perhaps,  would  have  been  but  the  Battle  of  Bridgewater. 
'•Here!''  said  he,  "  here  is  another  subject  which  you  must 
grapple  with,  at  once;''  and  then  he  described  the  struggle,  so 
near  the  Falls,  that,  as  the  conflict  ebbed  and  flowed,  surging 
now  this  way  and  now  that  —  for  the  British  battery  was  car 
ried  and  lo-t  three  several  times  before  we  prevailed  —  the 
thunders  of  Niagara  came  and  went  with  every  chantre,  liter 
ally  shaking  the  solid  earth  with  their  awful  nnderbase,  arid 
filling  the  midnight  sky  with  ponderous  anthems  for  the 
dead.  Of  course.  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  lan<Tua<re 
of  my  friend,  for  all  this  happened  in  1818;  but  I  give  the 
substance  of  what  he  communicated,  or  suggested,  from  the 
official  report,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  of  General  Scott  himself, 
whom  I  adopted  for  the  hero  —  and  played  the  mischief  with, 
in  trying  to  weave  a  story  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  this 
prodigious  drama.  I  was  carried  away,  with  a  sense  of  hid 
den  wings,  in  the  contemplation  of  what  I  saw  and  heard,  as 
the  picture  began  to  shape  itself,  with  appalling  distinctness, 
to  my  imagination.  I  almost  fancied  that  I  could  see  the 
battle,  and  hear  the  uproar.  It  was  a  revelation  :  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  become  an  eye-witness  of  the  great  transaction ; 
as  if  the  dark  blue  curtains  of  another  world,  bedropped 
with  fire  and  overshot  with  gold,  had  been  reverently  put 
aside,  by  the  hand  of  a  mortal,  for  my  special  encouragement. 
Jn  a  word,  it  is  my  belief  now.  that  mine  was  a  clear  case  £>f 
spontaneous  combustion  ;  for  I  began  to  seethe  and  simmer 
upon  the  spot,  and.  before  I  slept,  flamed  up  with  some  of 
the  best  lines  in  the  book,  though  I  had  been  occupied  all 


6  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

day  long  upon  my  "Index  to  Niles's  Register,''  about  the 
dreariest  and  heaviest  drudgery  mortal  man  was  ever  tried 
with.  And  yet  I  persevered  —  laboring  sixteen  hours  a  day, 
and  every  day,  without  regard  to  sabbaths  or  holidays  —  for  no 
less  than  four  months  upon  that  confounded  *•  Register,"  and 
then  firing  up,  after  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed,  with  a  page  or 
two  of  "  Niagara  "  or  "  Goldau,"  — one  or  both,  as  the  whim 
took  me. 

So  entirely  absorbed  was  I,  in  my  devotion  to  these  two 
strangely  different  objects  —  upon  which  every  thing  de 
pended  at  the  time,  and  about  which  I  shall  have  something 
more  to  say  hereafter,  for  the  encouragement  of  others  —  that 
my  left  leg  and  thigh,  which  happened  to  be  nearest  the  fire, 
as  I  wrote,  were  absolutely  charred  without  my  knowledge ; 
so  that  the  flesh  came  off  at  last  in  large  flakes,  very  much 
as  if  I  had  been  slowly  barbacued  in  my  sleep,  or  as  if  my 
friends  had  been  roasting  me  alive,  in  advance  of  public 
opinion. 

Mine  was  a  hickory  fire,  and  I  kept  it  up,  night  and  day, 
witli  a  bushel  or  two  of  live  coals  always  on  the  heartli ; 
sitting  close  to  it,  and  wearing,  for  pantaloons,  a  thick,  double- 
milled  cassimere.  Otherwise,  I  should  have  been  blistered 
into  consciousness  long  before,  instead  of  being  charred  in 
patches ;  and  to  a  depth  which  frightened  me,  when  I  first 
saw  them,  in  getting  out  of  bed,  by  a  strong  fire-light.  My 
poor  thigh  was  mottled  like  castile  soap,  and  the  flakes  that 
came  off  were  thicker  than  our  old-fashioned  wafers.  Evi 
dently,  I  had  been  baking  by  a  slow  fire,  without  knowing  it ; 
and  these  accumulations  had  come  of  my  being  heated  and 
cooled,  week  after  week,  just  before  I  was  ready  to  blow 
off,  and  blaze  outright. 

And  so  "  Niagara  and  Goldau "  were  completed,  side  by 
side  with  the  Index,  during  that  period  of  scorching  gestation  ; 
but  nobody  knew  of  it  until  they  appeared  in  print,  although 
I  had  astonished  Mr.  Pierpont  with  the  first  rough  sketch  of 
"  Goldau,"  within  two  or  three  days  after  he  had  suggested  it, 
as  I  have  said  before,  —  the  only  person,  by  the  way,  that 
ever  saw  a  manuscript  of  mine,  either  in  prose  or  poetry,  or 
ever  heard  a  page  of  it  read  aloud,  before  it  was  offered  for 
publication. 


BY    WAY    OF    INTRODUCTION.  7 

Mr.  Pierpont  was  going  through  with  his  theological  course 
at  Cambridge,  when  these  two  poems  appeared,  taking  him 
wholly  l>y  surprise.  He  wrote  me  soon  after  getting  posses 
sion  of  a  copy,  which  I  had  sent  him.  and  stated,  among  a 
multitude  of  pleasant  things,  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Oilman,  after 
ward  settled  at  Charleston.  S.C..  had  insisted  on  taking  the 
book  with  him  to  Niagara,  which  he  was  about  visiting  for 
the  iirst  time.  A  month  after  this,  he  wrote  again,  to  say 
that  Mr.  Oilman  had  returned  and  had  a  talk  with  him  about 
both  Niagaras  —  the  cataract  and  the  poem  —  of  which  the 
following,  as  near  as  I  can  give  it  from  recollection,  though  I 
have  tin-,  letter  itself  among  my  household  autographs,  and 
other  treasures  of  an  early  date,  is  about  the  substance:  — 

"  What  a  wonderful  gift,  my  friend,  is  that  insight  which 
characterizes  the  poet."  said  Mr.  Oilman.  u  Do  you  know," 
he  added,  "that  before  I  opened  the  book,  I  went  and  seated 
myself  where  I  could  see  the  Falls  to  the  greatest  advantage; 
and  then,  after  having  shifted  about  from  one  point  to  an 
other,  until  I  had  mastered,  as  I  believed,  the  whole  picture,  I 
opened  the  book,  and  then  I  saw  what  I  had  entirely  over 
looked  before,  and  what  only  a  poet  could  see,  without  help 
from  another.  What  a  wonderful  gift,  to  be  sure!  It  was 
a  new  creation  for  me.  I  saw  now  through  the  eyes  of 
a  poet."  iS:c.  "  How  familiar  the  author  must  have  been 
with  the  changing  aspects  of  this  great  wonder;  how  he 
must  have  studied  it  ! 

Mr.  Pierpont  allowed  him  to  go  on  and  on.  till  he  had  run 
himself  out  of  breath,  and  then  astonished  him  beyond  meas 
ure,  and  almost  beyond  belief,  by  saying  that  he  was  quite 
sure  I  had  never  seen  the  Falls;  but  he  would  write  me  and 
ask  if  I  had.  My  answer  was,  that  I  had  riot  only  never  seen 
them,  but  that  I  had  never  seen  so  much  as  a  tolerable  paint 
ing  of  them  ;  though  I  had  often  read  what  was  intended  for 
a  description,  and,  among  others,  a  paragraph  or  two  in  Wil 
son's  Ornithology,  where,  in  describing  the  white-headed  eagle 
(Fako  leucocephalus),  our  great  national  representative,  lie 
told  us  that  the  brave  bird,  while  dashing  hither  and  thither, 
through  the  huge  columns  of  mist  and  spray,  was  sometimes 
shipwrecked  in  his  adventurous  flight,  and  carried  over  the 
Falls  —  if  one  iiiiirht  believe  the  stories  that  were  told.  Of 


8  .  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

these  eagles.  I  had  ventured  to  make  some  use,  though  never 
in  the  way  mentioned.  All  the  rest  of  the  picture  was  made 
up  of  what  I  knew  must  always  be  the  leading  characteris 
tics  of  crowded,  and  rushing,  tumultuous  and  tumbling  waters. 
By  generalizing,  I  provoked  the  reader  to  supply  all  my  de 
ficiencies,  and  particularize  for  himself,  as  Mr.  Gilmau  had 
done,  who  saw  clearly,  at  each  remove,  what  I  had  but  dimly 
suggested. 

It  was  at  this  time,  and  in  consequence  of  the  pleasant 
error  Mr.  Gilrnan  had  been  led  into,  that  Mr.  Pierpont  pro 
posed  a  trip  to  Niagara  with  me,  whenever  we  might  be  able 
to  afford  the  expense.  The  proposition  was  accepted ;  and, 
from  that  time  forth,  it  was  our  settled  determination  to  visit 
Niagara  together,  and  thereby  commemorate  ourselves,  if 
nothing  more.  But  alas  for  the  safest  and  wisest  of  mortal 
plans,  if  they  be  postponed  to  a  distant  morrow  !  Year  after 
t-  year  went  by,  and  up  to  1823,  when  I  went  abroad,  owing  to 
changes  and  interruptions  without  number,  we  had  never  been 
able  to  keep  our  vow.  After  my  return,  however,  it  was 
renewed  with  a  more  decided  emphasis ;  and,  in  the  summer 
of  1833,  all  our  arrangements  were  completed  for  going 
together,  and  taking  our  wives  with  us  —  not  for  companion 
ship  only,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  but  for  regulators  and 
balance-wheels,  as,  without  them,  we  knew  not  where  we 
should  bring  up.  I  was  about  going  abroad  once  more,  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  much  I  had  overlooked  before,  simply 
because  I  could  see  it  any  time ;  and  I  felt  unwilling  to  show 
my  face  among  the  wonders  of  the  Old  World,  before  I  had 
seen  something  more  of  the  New.  How  should  I  like  to  be 
questioned  again,  as  I  had  been  many  times  before,  about 
Niagara,  and  the  Natural  Bridge,  and  the  Prairies,  and  the 
Missouri,  and  the  Mississippi? 

But  just  when  we  were  ready  for  the  trip,  there  came  a 
notice  from  my  old  partner  in  business,  "  John  Pierpont, 
Esquire,"  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  give  up  the  idea  alto 
gether,  having  been  called  away  to  the  West  somewhere,  for 
the  dedication  of  a  new  church.  I  felt  sorry,  and  so  did  my 
wife ;  but  our  minds  were  made  up  to  go,  and  go  we  did,  and 
by  ourselves.  After  blundering  though  many  hundreds  of 
miles,  not  to  say  thousands,  at  the  hourly  risk  of  our  lives,  in 


BY    WAY    OF    INTRODUCTION. 

the  abominable  stage-coaches,  that  did  the  business  for  many 
a  Western  traveller  in  that  day.  we  arrived  at  Buffalo,  on 
our  way  to  Niagara  and  Quebec,  and  the  battle-fields  of  the 
Revolution,  which  were  all  new  to  us.  Happening  to  be  out 
on  the  piazza  of  our  hotel  soon  after  we  arrived,  my  atten 
tion  was  attracted  by  a  small  card  fastened  to  a  pillar.  Judge 
of  my  astonishment,  when  I  found  it  was  a  notice  that  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Pierpont  would  ••  officiate  "  somewhere  that  evening 
or  the  next.  I  forget  which.  So  off  I  posted  in  search  of 
the  wanderer ;  found  him  seated  at  a  table  with  his  back 
toward  the  entrance,  went  up  to  him  softly,  and  fetched  him 
a  hearty  slap  on  the  back,  which  he  resented,  by  starting  to 
hi.-,  feet,  staring  at  me,  as  if  he  had  raised  a  spirit,  and  jump 
ing  into  my  arms  like  a  schoolboy.  Our  trip  to  Niagara  was 
forthwith  arranged  anew,  and  the  very  next  day  we  found 
ourselves  there,  myself  for  the  first  time,  and  lie  for  the  third 
or  fourth.  I  believe  ;  after  which  came  the  star-shower,  thick 
"as  the  leaves  in  Valombrosa,"  or  the  untimely  blossoms  of 
a  fig-tree  stripped  by  a  hurricane,  while  we  were  asleep. 
And  here  we  mav  as,  well  draw  rein,  and  take  a  long  breath, 
and  look  about  us. 

A^r.  ~2C>.  —  A  long  breath  it  has  been!  but  if  we  are 
allowed  onlv  so  many  breathings,  and  they  are  all  counted 
to  us.  and  we  cannot  go  beyond  our  allowance,  may  it  not 
be  good  economy  sometimes,  to  take  the  longest  breath  we 
can  ?  Mav  it  not  be  soothing,  as  well  as  strengthening,  to 
stop  now  and  then,  and  look  about  us,  on  our  way  up  hill, 
or  down  hill,  after  we  have  passed  our  meridian,  and  ask 
ourselves  in  all  seriousness,  What  next? 

Here  am  I  now,  but  little  further  advanced  in  my  fourth 
attempt,  than  I  was  three  months  ago  ;  owing  partly  to  my 
building  operations,  and  partly  to  the  fact,  that  I  have  been 
persuaded  to  write  half  a  score  of  magazine  articles,  instead 
of  so  many  chapters  in  my  autobiography.  Perhaps,  how 
ever,  the  outline  sketch  I  have  made  of  Mr.  Pierpont  for 
the  '•  Atlantic."  and  the  papers  on  Education  furnished  the 
'•  Phrenological  Journal."  to  say  nothing  of  a  story  or  two, 
and  a  short  poem,  may  be  regarded  as  but  so  many  episodes. 

lint  another  and  a  very  serious  question  has  lately  sprung 
up  in  mv  way.  Shall  I  proceed  as  hitherto,  beginning  with 


10  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

my  earliest  recollections,  and  going  on,  from  year  to  year, 
crossing  my  own  path  continually,  at  the  risk  of  many  repe 
titious,  only  that  I  may  keep  together  the  doings  of  a  certain 
period,  rather  than  my  doings  within  a  certain  field  ?  Or 
shall  I  take  up.  one  after  another,  such  developments  of  char 
acter  as  we  all  undergo  in  our  progress  through  the  world, 
from  youth  to  old  age.  beginning  with  the  earliest  I  remem 
ber,  and  following  them  out,  year  after  year,  to  the  present 
day  ?  Much  may  be  said  on  both  sides,  according  to  Oliver 
Goldsmith  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  think  the  latter  not  only  the 
wiser,  but  the  pleasauter  course.  And  therefore,  after  having 
disposed  of  my  parentage  in  the  usual  way,  I  propose  to  give 
my  experience  under  different  heads,  just  as  they  occur  to  me ; 
so  that  if  any  reader  should  be  curious  to  know  something 
of  my  first  impulses,  and  what  became  of  them  in  after  life, 
through  the  ever-unfolding  changes  of  boyhood,  manhood,  and 
old  age,  he  need  only  look  at  the  heading  of  the  chapters, 
and  choose  one  for  himself,  and  follow  that  division  of  the 
subject  to  the  "  bitter  end." 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  11 


CHAPTER   II. 

OF   MY   PARENTAGE   AND   FAMILY. 

SECOND-SIGHT   AND    APPARITIONS. 

Xov.  27. —  Anain   I  have  an   hour  or  two  of  comparative 

leisure.  un<l  may  venture  to  take  up  the  pen,  without  fear  of 
interruption  for  a  while.  The  weather  being  so  favorable,  a 
second  Indian  summer  having  opened  to  us,  and  my  building 
operations  <^oinif  on  so  smoothly,  I  think  I  may  afford  to  in 
dulge  in  a  little  gossipping. 

My  fa 'her  and  mother,  and  all  their  relations  on  both  sides 
of  the  house,  were  Friend>.  Their  ""birthright"  could  be 
traced  bark  to  the  time  of  (ieorge  Vox.  Mv  grandfather, 
.James  Xeal.  was  a  public  preacher  among  that  people,  and 
up  to  the  verv  last,  though  a  ijodly  man  —  so  i^odly  that  he 
believed  lie  had  been  able  to  live  one  whole  day  without  sin, 
and  serious  enough  upon  all  proper  occasions  — was  a  great 
favorite  with  the  young  and  merry-hearted,  and  full  of  quiet 
humor.  Two  or  three  anecdotes  have  just  occurred  to  me, 
which  I  remember  hearing  told  of  him,  when  I  was  a  little 
boy.  Riding  one  day  to  attend  a  ''monthly  meeting"  some 
where  in  the  "  District  of  Maine,"  as  our  State  was  then 
called  —  it  being  but  an  appendage  to  Massachusetts,  though 
four  times  larger  —  he  had  for  his  companion  Remington' 
Hobby,  another  "  approved"  minister,  and  a  remarkably  sedate 
man.  who  took  every  thing  so  to  heart  in  this  naughty  world, 
thiit  he  eschewed  all  joking  and  pleasantry,  as  a  part  of  the 
idle  words  we  are  to  give  an  account  of  hereafter.  It  seems 
that  friend  Hobby  had  a  troublesome  cold  in  the  head. 
"  .lames."  said  he,  as  they  were  jogging  along  in  a  quiet  seri 
ous  way.  "James,"  —  flourishing  a  large  chocolate  bandanna, 
of  the  old  orthodox  type,  rather  too  near  the  head  of  the 
spirited  horse  my  grandfather  rode,  —  "  how  my  nose  runs  !  " 


12  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Well,  Remington,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  rather  guess  thee  '11 
be  able  to  keep  up  with  it;  thee's  got  a  pretty  good  horse 
under  thee."  Both  were  supposed  to  be  capital  judges  of 
horse-flesh,  drab  cloth,  and  beaver  hats;  always  wearing  the 
best,  and  seldom  meeting,  without  a  little  grave  banter  and 
chaffering  on  the  part  of  "James." 

Many  other  like  pleasantries  I  might  recall,  as  they  crowd 
upon  my  recollection ;  but,  having  been  led  astray  so  often 
and  so  far,  by  following  such  will-o'-the-wisps,  I  have  grown 
distrustful  of  myself,  and  of  them,  and  shall  give  only  two 
or  three  more,  which  seem  to  be  characteristic  of  the  family. 

Riding  over  the  top  of  a  hill  one  day,  which  seemed  little 
better  than  a  rock  heap,  in  the  midst  of  a  landscape  so  dis 
mal,  so  desolate,  and  so  rough,  it  seemed  to  be  laboring  under 
a  curse,  he  saw  a  man  hard  at  work,  laying  up  a  stone  wall,' 
as  if  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  lot,  and  resolved  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  "  Neighbor,"  said  my  grandfather,  pulling  up 
short,  as  he  spoke,  "  neighbor,  may  I  ask  thee  where  thee 
gets  the  stones  for  that  wall  thee's  building  ?  " 

"  Where  do  I  get  'em  !  "  said  the  man,  with  a  puzzled  look. 
"  Why,  all  about  here." 

"  Thee  does  !  Well,  I  declare  !  I  didn't  miss  any  of  them," 
said  the  grave  Quaker,  as  he  rode  off,  without  changing  coun 
tenance.  The  last  that  was  seen  of  the  man,  he  was  stand 
ing  stock-still,  as  if  bewildered,  and  following  with  his  eyes 
the  stately  apparition,  as  it  slowly  disappeared  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill;  occasionally  muttering  to  himself,  and  shaking  his 
head,  if  we  may  believe  the  representations  of  a  third  party,  as 
if,  notwithstanding  the  Quaker  garb  and  serious  look  of  the 
stranger,  he  had  his  misgivings,  or  did  not  feel  quite  satisfied 
with  himself. 

Stephen,  the  eldest  son,  appears  to  have  inherited  some 
thing  of  his  father's  drollery.  "  Friend  Neal,"  said  Squire 
Bartlet,  one  day,  who  had  just  been  told  that  a  wretched 
pauper  was  about  being  married,  "what  do  ye  think  in 
duced  Trip  to  take  a  wife  ?  "  —  "  Why,  that  he  might  have 
something  to  call  his  own,"  was  the  reply. 

And  so  with  James,  the  third  son.  "  Poor  fellow  ! "  said 
a  passing  traveller,  as  he  threw  a  glance  over  a  brush  fence, 
that  seemed  to  be  rambling  off  into  a  dreary  waste,  which  a 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  13 

man  was  tearing  up  with  a  plough,  jump  after  jump,  as  if 
both  were  playing  leap-frog. 

"  Not  so  poor  as  tliee  mav  think  for  !  "  said  uncle  James, 
who  happened  to  overhear  the  remark:  "for  he  owns  only 
one-half  of  it." 

But  the  second  son,  mv  poor  father,  who  died  in  his  thirtieth 
year,  seems  to  have  taken  things  more  seriously,  and.  though 
far  from  beinsx  an  austere  man.  to  have  had  no  disposition  for 
jokinir  under  anv  circumstances.  It  may  he  that  he  had  a 
presentiment  of  coming  evil,  or  that  his  way  was  over 
shadowed,  from  earlv  age,  by  the  angel  of  death. 

Of  the  daughters  Peace,  Keziah,  and  Elizabeth,  Keziah 
alone  betrayed  her  relationship,  when  '"much  enforced."  by 
flashes  of  quiet  sarcasm,  and  a  kind  of  playfulness  at  times, 
which  reminded  us  all  of  grandfather. 

Mv  earliest  progenitors,  on  mv  father's  side,  were  Andrew 
Neal,  who  died  in  1757;  and  his  wife  Dorcas,  who  died  in 
1791.  Bevond  these  I  cannot  venture  to  go;  though  I  am 
assured  by  the  Neals  of  Salem,  that  I  might,  if  I  would,  trace 
mv  lineage  up  to  Cromwell;  and  by  others,  who  have  taken 
great  pains  to  satisfy  themselves,  that  we  are  of  the  red 
O'Neals  who  had  to  do  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  that  Shane 
Castle  —  about  which  1  wrote  a  poem,  while  Mr.  Pierpont  \yas 
looking  over  my  shoulder,  in  1810,  on  hearing  that  it  had  just 
been  destroyed  by  fire  —  was  a  part  of  our  family  heritage.  Of 
these  two  stories,  I  don't  believe  a  word  ;  nor  shall  I,  without 
clearer  pooof  by  far  than  I  have  yet  met  with. 

My  grandfather  held  to  the  last  that  our  ancestors  were 
Scotch  ;  but  in  Dover  and  Portsmouth,  England,  I  found  the 
name  so  frequently  in  the  graveyards,  with  that  of  John  pre 
fixed,  in  two  or  three  cases  —  and  always  spelled  as  we  have 
spelled  ours  for  the  last  hundred  years,  though  I  had  one  letter 
in  my  possession  before  the  fire  of  July  last,  in  which  it  was 
spelled  Neil,  instead  of  Neal,  by  uncle  James  himself —  that  I 
began  to  feel  as  much  at  home  there,  as  I  should  in  the  grave 
yards  of  Portsmouth  or  Dover,  New  Hampshire,  where  the 
earliest  of  our  family  first  planted  themselves,  and  where 
the  name,  with  a  slight  change  of  orthography  here  and  there, 
abounds.  The  first  settlers  of  a  country  are  fond  of  the 
names  they  have  always  been  familiar  with  at  home;  and  it 


14  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

is  therefore  but  a  reasonable  presumption  that  Portsmouth 
was  named  by  emigrants  from  Portsmouth ;  and  Dover,  by 
emigrants  from  Dover.  England. 

But  however  this  may  be,  although  I  have  great  respect 
for  old  families,  that  is.  for  people  who  have  had  grandfathers, 
I  am  not  inclined  to  take  a  part  in  the  controversy  which  the 
'•old  man  eloquent"  set  a-going,  about  forty  years  ago,  between 
the  families  of  to-day,  and  the  families  of  yesterday,  or  the 
day  before. 

And  here,  in  this  connection,  I  am  reminded  of  a  some 
what  amusing  circumstance,  which  has  led  to  having  my 
name  written,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  with  a  final  e  —  Neale 
instead  of  Neal.  For  a  time,  I  supposed  the  magazine-writers, 
and  others  who  "  sarved  me  out"  in  the  newspapers,  had  been 
misled  by  the  orthography  of  Joseph  C.  Neale's  name ;  but 
I  discovered  at  last  that  I  myself  was  answerable  for  the 
change  ;  and  in  this  way.  When  I  gave  an  account  of  all  our 
American  writers  for  "  Blackwood,"  I  was  obliged  of  course 
not  to  overlook  myself,  or  the  authorship  would  have  been 
guessed  immediately.  And  so  I  spoke  of  "John  Neale,"  as  I 
did  of  others,  only  taking  care  to  say  that  I  gave  his  own 
language  in  speaking  of  himself,  and  spelling  the  name  Neale. 
All  who  knew  me  were  of  course  thrown  off  the  scent ;  while 
strangers  adopted  the  new  orthography,  and  stuck  to  it,  not 
withstanding  all  my  protestations  and  remonstrances,  until 
Henry  Neale  and  Joseph  C.  Neale  and  myself  were  supposed 
to  be  of  one  blood,  if  not  of  one  family.  Perhaps  I  deserved 
what  followed,  and  have  no  right  to  complain. 

And  now  for  myself.  I  was  born,  to  the  best  of  my  recol 
lection  and  belief,  on  the  25th  of  August,  1793;  and  my 
twin-sister  Rachel,  on  the  24th.  leaving  an  interval  of, 
about  twelve  hours  between  us,  though  the  question  has 
never  yet  been  fully  determined. 

Our  parents  had  no  other  children,  and  my  father  die'd 
within  a  mouth  after  we  were  born,  leaving  my  poor  mother 
a  widow,  sick,  helpless,  and  well-nigh  destitute,  with  two  little 
babies  upon  her  hands  ;  one  of  which,  my  dear  sister,  was  of 
a  feeble  constitution,  and  always  ailing,  though  she  lived  to 
the  age  of  sixty-five,  and  for  many  years  before  she  died  was 
favored  with  uncommon  health,  notwithstanding  the  failure  of' 
her  eyesight. 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  15 

As  the  Friends  have  no  poor,  and  all  her  brothers  were 
substantial  farmers,  and  all  our  relations,  on  both  sides,  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  my  mother  found  no  serious  diffi 
culty  in  her  way.  after  she  was  able  to  sit  up.  My  lather  had 
been  a  school-master,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  was  employed 
by  the  town.  Feeling  that  slie  had  no  time  to  lo.-e.  not  a 
day.  she  opened  a  private  school,  to  which  some  of  the 
larger-  bovs,  v\  ho  had  been  for  a  long  while  under  my  father's 
traii'iini;.  were  immediately  sent  :  and  this  occupation  she 
followed  for  thirty-live,  years,  and  my  sister  after  her.  up  to 

18:30. 

'  jVur.  29. —  Thanksgiving  clay,  and  so  very  mild  and  pleasant, 
that  I  wa>  hardly  seated,  before  I  was  called  to  hear  a  report 
from  the  master  mason  I  had  employed  on  a  large  store  in 
Exchange  Street,  that  a  portion  of  tlie  division  wall,  eighty  feet 
in  depth,  and  three  stories  high,  had  slipped  away  and  tumbled 
into  a  neighbor's  empty  cellar.  ]S~or  was  I  alone.  Others  had 
suffered  in  the  same  way.  and  two  or  three  much  more  seri 
ously  ;  here,  by  the  pressure  of  the  wind  ;  there,  by  the  frost 
coming  out  of  the  walls,  which  had  been  built,  as  mine  were, 
of  old  brick  that  had  been  left  uncovered  till  they  were  drip 
ping  wet.  Most  thankful  am  I.  that  the  mishap  pccunvd  before 
we  had  gone  up  a  story  higher,  or  it  was  too  .late  for  me  to 
lay  the  wall  with  new.  dry  brick,  and  thereby  guard  against 
a  repetition  of  the  "slide;"  and  very  thankful.  I  must  ac 
knowledge,  that  I  have  no  more  to  be  thankful  for. 

And  now  let  us  return  to  our  Reminiscences.  My  father 
died  after  a  very  short  illness,  of  which  different  accounts  are 
given  by  those  who  knew  him  best,  and  while  my  mother 
was  confined  to  her  bed ;  though  she  had  left  it  once,  on  hear 
ing  that  he  wanted  to  see  her,  and  went  to  his  room  in  spite 
of  all  remonstrances,  where  she  saw  him  for  the  last  time, 
only  a  day  or  two  before  his  death. 

She  used  to  say  that  he  died  of  a  fever,  which  was  brought 
on  by  a  severe  cold,  taken  at  the  door,  when  a  mysterious 
stranger  called  to  see  him,  and  would  not  enter  the  house  ; 
but  Josiah  Dow  (father  of  Neal  Dow),  one  of  his  earliest 
and  best  friends,  who  never  spoke  of  him  without  visible 
emotion,  and  Jeanette  Starkie.  one  of  my  father's  scholars, 
and  Mrs.  Abigail  Horton,  or  u  Aunt  Nabbie,"  (now  in  her 


16  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ninety-seventh  year),  all  members  of  the  society,  and  per 
sonal  friends  of  my  father  and  mother,  are  quite  sure  that  he 
took  the  fever  at  Fal mouth,  where  he  went  to  watch  with 
some  of  the  sick,  while  the  throat-distemper,  as  it  was  then 
called.  —  the  putrid  sore  throat.  —  and  a  malignant  ship-fever 
prevailed  for  a  season,  filling  the  whole  neighborhood  with 
consternation.  But,  however  this  may  be,  the  fatigue  and 
watching,  added  to  his  anxiety  about  my  mother,  may  have" 
predisposed  him  for  what  followed. 

That  the  Friends  have  rather  a  disposition  toward  the 
marvellous  —  an  easy  faith  in  the  wonderful,  that  is  —  I  have 
had  occasion  to  see  from  my  earliest  boyhood  ;  yet  there  were 
some  strange  circumstances  preceding,  and  foretelling,  as 
many  thought,  the  death  of  my  father,  which  I  have  latelv  had 
detailed  to  me  by  the  venerable  Josiah  Dow,  who  died  a  year 
or  two  ago,  at  the  age  of  ninety-one. 

"  Thy  father  came  to  see  me  not  long  before  thee  was  born," 
said  this  exceedingly  kind-hearted,  conscientious  man,  "  about 
something  which  troubled  him  so,  that  he  could  not  think  of 
any  thing  else.  We  were  like  brothers  —  we  had  been  boys 
together,"  —  and  here  the  good  old  man's  eyes  filled,  and  his 
voice  faltered ;  and  the  story  he  told  me  was  this.  Com 
ing  through  the  garden  toward  nightfall,  the  day  before,  he 
saw  my  mother  there  —  left  her,  without  speaking,  as  he  was 
in  somewhat  of  a  hurry,  and  went  into  the  house ;  and  there 
he  saw  her  sitting  by  the  window,  and  busy  with  her  work. 
"  Why,  Rachel,"  said  he,  "  how  did  thee  manage  to  get  in 
before  me  ?  "  It  was  evident  enough  that  she  did  not  under 
stand  him :  her  startled"  look  made  him  stop  short ;  and  he 
merely  added,  that  he  thought  he  saw  her  in  the  garden  as  he 
passed  through.  But  no :  she  had  not  been  there  during  the 
whole  day  :  she  had  not  even  left  her  chair,  within  the  last  hour. 
My  father  was  afraid  to  pursue  the  inquiry,  lest  he  should 
alarm  her ;  but  the  garden  was  not  large,  and  he  had  passed 
so  near  to  her,  that  he  could  almost  have  touched  her.  "  In 
short,"  continued  friend  Dow,  "  thy  father  looked  upon  it  as  a 
forerunner,  as  it  proved  to  be  ;  but  then  he  supposed  it  intended 
for  thy  mother,  and  not  for  himself;  and  this  it  was  that  so 
troubled  him."  —  "Being  toward  nightfall,"  said  I,  "  and  he 
so  anxious  about  my  mother,  and  not  in  the  best  of  health  at 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  17 

the  time,  and  greatly  fatigued,  perhaps,   with  niffht-watch- 

ing.  might  he  not  have  mistaken  somebody  else  for  my 
mother  ?  " 

'•  2so  :  I  think  not  :  for  thy  mother  was  one  of  the  hand 
somest  women  of  her  day.  and  there  was  nobody  in  that 
neighborhood  who  resembled  her  in  person  or  look.'' 

And  here  I  may  as  well  add,  that  the  garden  lay  in  the  rear 
of  the  brick  house  now  standing  at  the  corner  of  South,  and 
Free  Streets,  and  owned  by  Mr.  S.  Iv.  Lymnn,  who  took  oif 
the  old  Gooding  house,  in  which  my  father  died,  and  which  I 
found,  not  lon<;  a<_ro.  on  the  westerly  side  of  Cotton  Street ;  a 
two-story,  yellow  frame-house,  crowded  with  Irish,  and  still 
in  pretty  good  repair.  I  was  born,  they  tell  me,  in  the  north 
front  chamber;  our  family  occupying  two  or  three  rooms,  at 
most,  in  the  second  story. 

But  my  mother  told  me  of  something  more,  which,  know 
ing  her  cautiousness  and  conscientiousness,  and  her  calm,  cool 
judgment  in  all  the  business  of  life,  I  must  acknowledge 
made  a  profound  impression  on  me.  after  1  had  got  my  growth. 
Had  she  been  addicted  to  poetry,  or  inven  to  the  reading  of 

romances  or  story  book. I  never  knew  her  to  read  but  two 

or  three  in  all  her  life.  "  Ixeuben  and  Rachel,"  and  "  Eliza 
"NVharton."  and  "  Charlotte.  Temple."  and  not  so  much  as  one 
of  mine  —  I  might  have  regarded  the  vi.-ion.  or  forerunner, 
which  I  am  now  about  to  i_rive  in  her  own  language, as  the  result 
of  a  temporary  hallucination  ;  for  that  she  herself  believed 
it.  nobody  that  knew  her  would  think  of  questioning  for  ii 
moment.  But  as  her  chief  reading  consisted  of  ••  No  Cross, 
DO  Crown."  the  '*  Travels  of  Job  Scott,"  Young's  "  Night 
Thoughts,"  "  Thomas  a  Kempis."  and  the  newspapers  of  the 
day  ;  and  as  she  was  quite  remarkable  for  downright  common- 
sense,  without  a  glimmer  of  imagination,  or  the  slightest 
leaning  toward  extravagance  or  exaggeration,  it  was  not  easy 
to  believe  that  she  could  be  mistaken. 

"  I  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  tire,  after  the  business  of 
the  day  was  over,"  said  she.  "  waiting  for  thy  father.  The  fire 
was  low.  and  as  I  reached  forward  to  take  up  one  end  of  a 
lar<;e  fore-stick,  a  hand  appeared  —  a  long,  slender  hand 
like  thy  father's  —  and  took  up  the  other  end  of  the  fore- 
stick  and  helped  place  it  where  it  belonged.  I  knew  it 


18  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

was  thy  father's  hand  the  moment  I  saw  it ;  and  I  believed 
it  was  meant  for  a  warning." 

"  Did  you  tell  father  of  it?  "  I  asked. 

"No:  I  was  afraid  he  might  be  troubled." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  fallen  asleep,  and  were  dreaming  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled,  mournfully  to  be  sure ; 
but  so  as  to  satisfy  me  that  she  had  weighed  all  the  circum 
stances  before,  and  that  my  suggestion  was  not  new  to  her. 

I  then  asked  her  how  late  in  the  evening  it  was. 

"I  do  not  remember  the  hour,"  she  said,  "but  I  know  it 
was  early  ;  for  supper  was  waiting  for  thy  father,  and  he  was 
always  punctual." 

Our  familiarity  of  late  with  what  are  called  spiritual 
manifestations  will  of  course  take  away  much  of  our  amaze 
ment,  if  not  of  our  unbelief;  but  still  I  should  be  disposed 
to  rank  this  revelation  among  the  most  marvellous  I  have 
heard  of,  through  well-authenticated  narratives ;  but.  within 
the  last  two  or  three  years,  I  have  heard  from  another  branch 
of  the  family  a  very  different  version  of  the  story. 

My  grandfather,  on  my  mother's  side  —  Daniel  Hall,  one 
of  the  ten  thousand  descendants  of  Hatevil  Hall  —  died  a 
strange  death.  He  was  a  man  of  large  stature,  and  of  great 
b'odily  strength.  He  had  never  been  ill  enough  to  keep  his 
bed  for  a  single  day  in  all  his  life.  One  afternoon,  toward 
nightfall,  in  swingling  flax,  a  splinter  got  into  his  hand. 
That  very  night,  the  hand  began  to  swell,  and  at  last  grew 
very  painful.  Mortification  set  in :  the  ablest  physicians  were 
sent  for,  but  nothing  could  be  done ;  and  he  walked  the  floor 
night  and  day,  till  he  died. 

The  hand  my  mother  saw,  is  now  believed  by  this  branch 
of  the  house  to  have  been  that  of  my  grandfather  Hall ;  for 
it  was  said  to  be  discolored  and  swollen.  But  however  this 
may  be  —  and  I  choose  to  rely  upon  what  my  mother  told 
me  and  my  wife,  with  her  own  mouth,  not  long  before  her 
death  —  it  is  certain  that  all  the  family  have  entire  and  ab 
solute  faith  in  the.  vision,  however  they  may  disagree  in  these 
unimportant  details.  That  a  hand  appeared,  like  that  which 
so  disturbed  Belshazzar,  that  his  knees  smote  together, 
although  for  a  much  kinder  purpose,  nobody  thinks  of  doubt 
ing,  I  find,  among  the  Friends. 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  19 

But  are  they  superstitious  ?  Are  they  a  people  of  easy 
faith  in  the  marvellous  ?  I  rather  think  they  are.  While  yet 
a  child.  I  remember  hearing  t\vo  or  three  of  the  soberest  — 
OIK-  of  whom,  the  late  Samuel  F.  Ilussey,  wore  the  broadest 
of  broad-brims — give  an  account  of  a  little  boy,  at  New- 
Bedford  I  think,  who  was  thought  to  be  gifted  with  second- 
sight  ;  and  I  am  sure  they  told  the  story  as  if  they  believed 
it  themselves,  and  one  or  two  were  eye-witnesses  of  what,  in 
the  days  of  Cotton  Mather,  might  have  led  to  something 
serious. 

The  boy,  they  said,  was  playing  on  the  floor,  when,  all  at 
once,  he  stopped,  and  appeared  to  be  frightened.  His 
parents  questioned  him.  and  tried  to  soothe  him:  and.  at  last, 
he  whispered  in  his  mother's  ear  that  he  saw  a  vessel  which 
had  been  shipwrecked,  belonging  to  a  near  neighbor.  The 
parents  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  the  story,  and  it  was 
entirely  forgotten,  till,  at  the  end  of  six  months,  the  news 
came  that  the  vessel  had  been  lost ;  and,  upon  comparing 
dates,  they  found  it  was  about  the  time,  if  not  on  the  very 
day  and  hour,  when  the  boy  had  the  visiom 

At  another  time,  he  burst  out  a-lauirhing,  without  any 
apparent  cause  ;  and,  upon  being  interrogated,  he  said  that  a 
neighbor  of  somewhat  questionable  habits  had  just  rolled 
down  a  hill,  a  long  way  off,  and  broken  two  jugs  he  had  with 
him  :  and  this  also  proved  to  be  true.  The  old  man  had 
rolled  down  the  further  side  of  a  hill,  which  rose  up  between 
the  little  seer,  and  the  distant  highway. 

And  1  remember  lying  still  in  my  trundle-bed,  and  hold 
ing  my  breath  and  pretending  to  be  asleep,  when  I  was  not 
more  than  six  years  of  age,  while  Clarissa  Brackett,  another 
Friend,  and  one  of  my  dear  mother's  cronies,  told  about  a 
wroman.  who,  in  passing  through  a  dark  entry  and  up  a 
Ions:  stairway,  was  followed  by  a  spirit  —  the  spirit  of  her 
husband's  first  wife,  and  the  mother  of  two  or  three  children 
she  was  treating  barbarously  —  and  struck  her  on  the  back, 
between  the  shoulders,  with  a  bunch  of  keys,  which  left  a 
mark  that  was  found  there  when  they  laid  her  out.  This 
they  had  occasion  to  do  without  much  delay  ;  for  she  took  to 
her  bed  at  once,  and  raved  about  the  spirit  aud  the  bunch  of 
keys  till  she  died. 


20  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

And  Jeanette  Starkie,  a  female  preacher  among  the 
Friends,  whom  I  have  already  mentioned  as  one  of  my 
father's  scholars,  a  woman  quite  remarkable  for  discretion,  or 
sobriety,  of  speech,  and  for  soundness  of  judgment,  told  me 
not  long  ago  of  two  cases,  within  her  own  personal  experi 
ence,  which  I  should  like  to  give  in  her  own  words,  if  my 
memoranda  had  not  been  destroyed  by  the  fire. 

In  the  first,  a  lovely  young  woman,  the  daughter  of  her 
present  husband  by  a  first  wife,  was  lying  at  the  point  of 
death,  unreconciled  to  God.  In  her  anguish  of  spirit,  one 
clay,  when  left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  she  prayed  to  be  de 
livered  from  her  doubts,  and,  to  that  end,  that  she  might  be 
permitted  to  see  her  name  written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of 
life.  And,  lo !  straightway  there  appeared  upon  the  bed, 
before  her  eyes,  a  large  open  book,  wherein  she  saw  her 
name  written  at  full  length.  Was  it  a  dream,  or  a  revelation  ? 
She  was  not  asleep  when  the  attendant  left  the  room ;  she 
was  wide-awake  when  that  attendant  returned ;  she  was  no 
enthusiast ;  and  wholly  incapable  of  untruth,  at  any  time, 
much  less  at  a  time  when  she  was  about  to  pass  away  from 
earth  for  ever.  Add  to  all  this,  that  she  died  in  the  full  pos 
session  of  her  senses,  with  a  smile  upon  her  beautiful  coun 
tenance,  and  a  declaration  of  trust  upon  her  lips,  founded 
on  what  she  had  been  permitted  to  see.  Of  course,  we, 
who  are  strangers,  or  philosophers,  do  not  believe  a  word  of 
all  this  ;  but  the  mother-in-law  does,  and  all  the  family ;  and 
surely  this  ought  to  weigh  with  us,  even  though  we  may  not 
believe  in  compurgators,  nor  be  quite  ready  to  believe  at 
second  hand,  what  we  should  be  unwilling  to  believe,  were 
we  eye-witnesses. 

The  other  case  related  by  her  was  substantially  as  follows  : 
One  of  our  worthiest  fellow-citizens  —  the  late  Captain 
Daniel  Tucker,  if  I  am  not  mistaken  —  saw  the  apparition 
of  his  first  wife  enter  the  room  where  he  was  at  the  time,  and 
take  her  place  at  a  writing-desk  she  had  always  used  when 
alive.  I  cannot  give  the  details  ;  but,  according  to  my  present 
recollection,  the  main  fact  was  as  I  have  related.  It  was 
evident  from  her  whole  manner,  that  this  amiable  Quakeress, 
and  approved  minister  among  the  Friends,  believed  the  story 
as  I  have  told  it;  for  she  knew  all  the  parties. 


OF    MY    PARENTAGE    AND    FAMILY.  21 

Let  me  acid  here  that  my  mother  used  to  relate  in  a 
pleasant  way,  as  if  it  were  hardlv  worth  mentioning  seriously, 
another  strange  personal  experience,  in  which  her  story  seemed 
to  be  corroborated  by  others,  at  least  in  part.  According  to 
what  we  are  told  of  spectres  and  goblins,  they  are  not  often 
testified  to  by  more  than  one  person  at  a  time,  like  the  ghost 
of  Banquo.  lint  in  the  case  I  am  about  to  mention,  where, 
if  neither  ghost  nor  goblin  appeared,  something  else  did.  in 
broad  daylight,  with  a  number  of  eye-witnesses,  who  were 
neither  agitated,  nor  troubled  with  remorse  of  conscience,  to 
verity  the  apparition,  and  therefore  to  confirm  the  story  told 
by  my  mother  about  her  dream. 

It  appears  that  she  had  lost,  in  some  unaccountable  way  — 
perhaps,  I  should  say,  in  a  mysterious  way  —  a  heavy  silver 
shoe-buckle,  one  of  a  pair,  which,  notwithstanding  they  were 
counted  among  the  vanities  of  the  world,  were  very  precious 
to  the  young,  handsome  Quakeress,  then  just  flowering  into 
"womanhood.  Diligent  search  had  been  made  for  it,  day  after 
day,  and  month  after  month,  through  a  long  dreary  winter,  till 
the  spring  opened,  but  always  in  vain.  Yet  she  had  not 
given  up  all  hope :  she  thought  of  her  buckle  by  day,  she 
dreamt  of  it  by  ni<;ht,  and  was  haunted  with  a  settled  con 
viction  that  she  should  find  it  again,  somewhere. 

One  morning,  while  the  family  were  at  breakfast,  with  a 
window  open,  that  looked  into  the  front  yard,  a  young  rooster 
flew  uj>,  and  lighted  on  the  window-sill,  and  gave  a  loud  noisy 
crow.  My  mother  looked  frightened  ;  and  all  were  some 
what  startled  by  the  suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of  the 
apparition.  After  a  few  minutes  of  dead  silence,  however, 
finding  all  eyes  turned  toward  her,  as  if  wondering  at  her 
paleness  and  agitation,  she  "up  and  told  a  dream"  she  had, 
the  night  before,  and  might  never  have  thought  of  again  but 
for  the  appearance  of  the  bird  in  the  open  window,  and  his 
loud  crowing. 

She  dreamed  that  they  were  all  at  breakfast,  with  that  very 
window  open  ;  that  a  young  chicken-cock  flew  in,  rested  on 
the  sill,  and  began  to  crow,  or  rather  to  scream  ;  that  she  ran 
to  drive  him  away,  and  that  she  followed  him  to  the  well, 
where,  just  under  the  edge  of  a  melting  snow-drift,  she  found 
the  buckle. 


22  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

The  old  folks  laughed  at  her ;  but  the  younger  fry  insisted 
on  her  having  the  dream  out.  She  refused  at  first,  but,  after 
a  while,  gave  way,  and  followed  the  bird,  which,  oddly  enough, 
did  fly  off  in  the  direction  of  the  well ;  after  a  few  minutes 
she  returned,  holding  up  the  buckle,  and  shouting,  "I  have 
found  it!  I  have  found  it!"  Xot  having  read  Plutarch  per 
haps,  nor  ever  heard  of  Archimedes,  and  being  unacquainted 
with  Greek,  she  did  the  best  she  could,  instead  of  saying, 
Eureka  !  Eureka!  And,  sure  enough,  she  had  found  the 
buckle  just  where  she  had  been  told  in  her  dream  to  look  for 
it.  under  the  edge  of  a  melting  snow-drift.  She  had  lost  it 
probably  in  going  to  the  well  for  water.  But  enough  on  this 
head.  If  the  Friends  are  not  a  little  given  to  the  marvel 
lous,  if  they  are  not  a  little  superstitious,  then  have  I  misun 
derstood  what  I  believe  to  be  one  of  their  characteristics. 


INCIDENTS    OF    CUILDIIOOD.  23 


CHAPTER    III. 

INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD,   REVELATIONS,   AND 
ORATORY. 

I)i:c.  3,  1800.  —  More  Indian  summer!  Xot  a  handful  of 
snow  since  the  23d  of  last  month,  and  then  only  what  we 
call  a  "Hirt,"  and  the  Scotch  a  ''flurry;"  atmosphere  warm 
and  delicious,  and  full  of  what  seems  to  be  the  breath  of 
roses.  Such  weather  is  now  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars 
a  day  to  our  laborers,  mechanics,  builders,  and  property- 
holders.  More  than  six  hundred  buildings  have  gone  up, 
and  half  as  many  more  will  be  under  way.  or  have  their  caps 
on,  before  the  snow  flies —  or  rather,  for  one  should  be  wary 
in  prophesying,  before  the  snow  lies.  But  we  have  had  two 
or  three  head  flaws  —  heavy  ruins  and  heavy  blows;  and 
some  of  our  walls  have  been  pushed  from  their  foundations, 
and  others  have  toppled  over,  though  laid  in  cement,  and 
over  a  foot  thick. 

And  now  let  us  return.  Among  my  earliest  recollections 
is  that  of  being  obliged  to  stand  upon  a  table,  and  say  over, 
"  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man,  whose  trembling  limbs 
have  borne  him  to  your  door,"  at  the  special  instance  and 
request  of  my  dear  old  grandfather,  and  a  few  of  what  were 
called  with  singular  propriety  his  particular  friends  ;  for  they 
overlooked  nothing,  and  were  always  in  the  way  of  prodigies 
and  portents.  How  I  quitted  myself,  I  do  not  remember,  nor 
am  I  quite  sure  that  I  remember  of  myself  what  I  have 
already  mentioned:  for  I  was  not  over  two  and  a  half,  or 
three  years  of  age  at  the  time,  as  I  found  out  by  letters 
which  were  in  my  possession  before  the  fire  ;  but  I  do  remem 
ber,  and  without  help  or  misgiving,  incidents  yet  earlier. 

The  very  first  was  the  following.  It  was  a  second  birth 
to  me.  and  all" before  was  a  dead  blank,  and  continues  to  'be 
so,  up  to  this  hour.  But  how  old  was  I?  My  vouchers  being 


2d  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

all  destroyed,  I  can  judge  only  by  circumstances.  On  our  way 
from  Fal mouth,  no\v  Portland,  to  Kittery,  now  Elliot,  where 
my  grandfather  lived,  I  remember,  as  if  it  were  but  yester 
day,  going  through  water  so  deep  that  it  flowed  over  the 
bottom  of  our  carriage.  I  remember,  too,  the  strange  appear 
ance  of  the  trees  growing  out  of  the  water,  with  no  sign  of 
road  or  pathway,  and  nothing  to  guide  us.  There  had  been 
a  great  freshet;  and  the  whole  country  up  to  Doughty's 
Falls,  they  say.  was  flooded.  We  stayed  with  my  grand 
father  a  year  and  a  half;  and  I  was  not  put  into  jacket-and- 
trousers,  till  after  our  return  to  Portland,  so  that  I  could  not 
have  been  much  older  than  I  have  said. 

But  while  I  remember  many  other  little  incidents  with  dis 
tinctness,  I  remember  nothing  at  all  —  absolutely  nothing  —  of 
a  somewhat  serious  accident,  which  occurred  to  me  while  we 
were  at  my  grandfather's.  It  seems  that  he  was  furnishing 
ship-timber  for  Portsmouth ;  that  one  of  his  workmen  stood 
up  a  broad  axe  by  the  handle,  with  the  blade  resting 
against  the  fence,  while  away  to  dinner ;  that  I  went  after 
some  chips,  barefooted ;  and,  while  gathering  them,  the  old 
sow  began  rooting  about  in  my  neighborhood,  and  at  last 
overthrew  the  axe,  which,  in  falling,  struck  me,  arid  cut  off 
my  great  toe,  so  that  it  only  hung  by  a  bit  of  skin.  How 
strange  that,  while  a  score  of  other  incidents,  absolutely  trivial 
in  comparison,  are  crowding  upon  my  recollection  with  the 
vividness  and  clearness  of  recent  experience,  I  remember 
nothing  of  the  fright  or  pain  which  I  must  have  suffered,  and 
am  obliged  to  rely  upon  others  for  the  fact,  while  carrying 
the  scar  with  me  to  the  grave! 

Among  these  are  the  following.  I  give  them  in  the  order 
they  occur  to  me.  I  took  it  into  my  head  one  day  to  clamber 
into  an  empty  hogshead  ;  and  let  some  of  my  playfellows  roll 
me  about,  until  I  received  a  serious  gash  over  the  left  temple, 
from  a  peg  or  a  nail,  which  had  been  overlooked.  They  say 
that  I  was  taken  up  and  carried  into  the  house,  and  laid  upon 
a  table,  where  the  wound  was  sewed  up  ;  and  that  when  it  was 
All  over,  and  I  was  asked  how  I  felt,  I  said  to  uncle  James, 
who  had  given  me  a  fig  to  encourage  me  under  the  operation, 
that  I  should  be  willing  to  go  through  the  whole  of  it  again, 
for  another  fi£. 


INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD.  2o 

About  this  time,  thoy  put  me  into  jacket-and-trousers ; 
whereupon,  they  say  that  I  gathered  uj)  my  petticoats  and 
flung1  them  to  my  sister,  saying.  "  Sis  may  have  these  :  they're 
too  good  lor  me.''  Here  was  a  touch  of  human  nature. 
Being  twins,  we  had  always  been  dressed  alike,  till  then  ; 
but.  from  that  time  forward.  I  was  the  man-child,  and  she  — 
poor  thing !  —  only  "  Sissy."  and  obliged  to  wear  petti 
coats. 

I  remember  also,  and  this  without  help  —  for  when  I  men 
tioned  it  to  my  mother,  not  long  before  her  death,  she  had 
wholly  forgotten  the  circumstance  —  that,  having  been  pro- 
yided  with  a  new  hat,  I  amused  myself  one  sabbath-morning 
—  and  the  neighbors  also,  I  dare;  say  —  with  kicking  the  old 
one,  of  which  1  had  long  been  heartily  ashamed,  up  and  down 
the  street,  on  my  way  to  meeting. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  a  narrow  escape  I  had  —  to  say 
nothing  of  the  poor  boy  I  aimed  at.  one  day,  wilh  a  cross 
bow,  as  he  was  leaning  over  and  drinking  from  the  nose  of 
a  pump,  standing  by  what  used  to  be  known  as  the  Fosdick 
House,  on  the  corner  of  Federal  and  Church  Streets.  I 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Friends'  meeting-house,  lately 
occupied  by  Thompson,  the  marble-cutter,  when  I  snapped 
the  string  and  let  fly,  with  no  more  idea  of  hitting  the 
poor  fellow  than  of  hitting  a  swallow  on  the  wing;  but  my 
little  crooked  arrow,  whittled  out  of  a  shingle,  struck  him 
just  between  the  eyes,  as  he  lifted  his  head  after  drinking. 
Half  an  inch,  one  way  or  the  other,  would  have  cost  him  an 
eye,  myself  undying  remorse,  and  my  mother  a  pretty  penny, 
I  dare  say  ;  for  we  Down-Fasters  are  a  litigious  people,  and 
lawyers  are  always  to  be  had. 

And  yet  another.  Having  been  furnished  with  a  pine-sled 
by  my  uncle  Simeon  Hall,  which,  owing  to  a  little  oversight 
when  it  was  put  together,  was  always  running  against  the 
grain,  1  was  obliged  to  do  my  sliding  on  the  steepest  hills  I 
could  find,  or  run  the  risk  of  stopping  half-way,  and  tumbling 
oft"  into  the  snow.  I  went  with  two  or  three  companions, 
one  beautiful  moonlight  evening,  to  try  my  luck  on  Titcomb's 
Wharf,  near  Clay-cove,  just  below  our  new  custom-house.  Not 
being  well  acquainted  with  the  neighborhood,  I  followed  iu 
the  wake  of  the  other  boys  ;  but  instead  of  turning  off,  as 


26  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

they  did.  at  a  particular  bend  of  the  highway,  which  they  were 
acquainted  with,  and  of  course  had  prepared  for,  I  kept  on 
and  on,  till  I  found  myself  in  the  dock,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet 
below,  with  a  sheet  of  ice  under  me,  and  great  blocks  of  salt 
water  ice  piled  up  in  every  direction  about  me.  I  had  been 
going  a  kt  belly-plumper  ;  "  and,  for  a  minute  or  two,  I  thought 
I  never  should  breathe  again,  so  completely  was  the  wind 
knocked  out  of  me.  The  boys  were  not  to  blame,  however. 
They  did  not  know  that  I  was  there  for  the  first  time,  and 
never  thought  of  warning  me.  till  it  was  too  late,  and  they 
saw  me  going  head-first  over  the  wharf,  and  into  the  sea. 
Luckily  for  us  all,  the  tide  was  out.  And  so  has  it  ever  been 
with  me.  In  the  midst  of  my  sorest  and  bitterest  trials,  from 
boyhood  to  old  age,  I  have  always  had  something  to  be 
thankful  for ;  so  that,  for  many  years,  when  a  heavy  blow 
has  fallen  upon  me,  or  a  great  disappointment  has  happened, 
my  first  thoughts  have  always  been,  Thank  God,  it  is  no 
worse  !  How  much  I  still  have  to  be  thankful  for!  and  how 
much  less  have  I  to  complain  of.  than  others  about  me ! 

With  that  unhappy  sled,  there  is  another  sorrowful  recol 
lection  associated.  Not  being  able  to  make  much  headway 
on  the  common  street -slopes,  I  had  taken  a  fancy  to  neigh 
bor  McLellan's  front-steps,  when  they  were  heaped  with 
snow.  They  were  not  more  than  three  feet  high,  or,  at  the 
most,  four ;  though  I  had  an  impression,  till  I  saw  them  after 
my  return  from  abroad,  that  they  were  high  enough  to  be 
dangerous,  and  therefore  to  justify  the  course  of  my  good 
uncle  James  with  me. 

Finding  me,  one  day,  just  on  the  point  of  lanching  my 
sled  from  the  top  of  this  elevation,  he  pulled  me  up  short, 
and  assured  me  in  a  way  peculiar  to  himself,  that  if  he  caught 
me  sliding  on  anybody's  steps  again,  he  would  take  my  sled 
away,  and  split  it  up,  and  burn  it.  Hardly  had  he  turned  the 
corner,  before  I  was  up,  and  at  it  once  more.  Happening  to 
look  round,  he  caught  me  in  the  act,  and,  being  a  man  of  his 
word  —  he  had  also  been  a  school-master,  and  a  great  disci 
plinarian  —  my  poor  sled  was  taken  away,  split  in  pieces,  and 
burned  before  my  face  —  the  monster  !  —  and  I  never  had 
another.  I  am  afraid  I  have  never  quite  forgiven  him  to  this 
day,  though  he  has  been  dead  thirty  years,  and  meant  to 


INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD.  27 

make  me  his  heir  ;  but  dying  in  a  hurry,  as  old  bachelors 
often  do.  lie  failed  to  carry  out  his  avowed  intentions,  and  I 
lost  a  handsome  estate  —  a  loss,  by  the  way,  which  I  never 
felt  a  twentieth  part  as  much  as  I  did  the  loss  of  my  little 
rough-and-tumble  pine-sled. 

Long  after  this,  when  I  had  reached  the  age  of  ten  or 
eleven.  I  had  another  experience  of  a  similar  nature.  Next 
my  mother's  in  Fish -Street,  now  called  Exchange -Street, 
lived  a  Widow  Deerin<r.  The  back  addition  to  her  house  had 
a  low.  sloping  roof,  which  I  took  a  prodigious  fancy  to,  for  a 
variety  of  reasons.  One  was.  that  I  could  mount  a  large 
cane  at  the  end  of  the  ridge-pole  and  slide  down,  at  a  tre 
mendous  pace,  to  the  very  edge  of  the  roof;  and  from  thence 
leap  to  the  platform,  without  much  risk.  To  be  sure,  the 
noise  I  made  was  terrific:  you  would  have  thought  a  hurri 
cane  had  got  among  the  old  shingles,  and  was  ripping  them 
off.  by  the  wheelbarrow-load.  The  Widow  Deering  was  a 
kind-hearted,  patient  woman  ;  but  she  could  not  bear  every 
thing,  even  from  a  neighbor's  boy  —  about  as  mischievous  a 
little  wretch  as  ever  breathed,  I  dare  say,  though  not  abso 
lutely  vicious  nor  heartless  :  and  so  she  gave  my  good  uncle 
a  hint.  I  suppose.  He  had  a  private  insurance-office  just 
over  the  way.  where  the  wealthiest  men  of  their  time  used  to 
congregate,  as  underwriters  and  gossips,  and  where  I  was  then 
going  through  a  ••  course  of  sprouts  "  with  my  uncle.  It  was 
only  in  the  three  R's  of  the  Irishman,  however  —  ''Reading, 
Kiting,  and  'Hethimetic"  —  and  nothing  more. 

Calling  me  up.  he  questioned  me  about  my  horsemanship 
on  the  widow's  roof,  and  about  the  cane  ;  and  taking  it  from 
me,  with  a  cuff  or  two,  which  set  my  head  ringing  like  a 
brass  kettle,  he  put  it  away  behind  some  old  painted  canvas 
hangings,  which  had  been  there  from  time  immemorial ;  cer 
tainly  from  the  time  of  the  old  Indian  wars,  if  we  might  be 
lieve  the  stories  that  were  told  about  the  talks  held  there, 
when  it  was  the  council-chamber  of  Massachusetts-Bay. 
They  were  the  first  I  ever  saw,  and  the  last ;  and  I  can  recall 
the  trees  and  blue  waters,  and  the  birds,  and  the  squirrels, 
and  the  bright,  clear  sky,  as  if  I  had  seen  them  but  the  other 
day.  Perhaps  my  uncommon  relish  for  painting,  and  espe 
cially  for  landscape,  originated  there.  But  to  return:  before 


28  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  sound  o'f  my  good  uncle's  footsteps  died  away,  I  had  got 
possession  of  the  cane,  and  was  careering  down  that  roof, 
with  more  vehemence  than  ever,  almost  ripping  off  the 
shingles  as  I  went ;  and  fully  persuaded  that  I  was  not  only 
avenging  myself,  on  my  uncle  and  the  widow,  for  the  cuffing 
I  had  been  favored  with,  but  that  I  was  showing  off  my 
horsemanship,  and  my  pluck,  in  a  way  not  to  be  misunder 
stood.  N.B.  I  think  so  now ;  but  I  cannot  understand  how 
I  ever  had  the  courage  to  disobey  such  a  man,  knowing  him 
as  I  did,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  without  regard 
to  consequences.  That  these  were  indications  of  a  charac 
ter  headstrong,  adventurous,  arid  rash,  I  must  acknowledge. 
But  enough.  Let  us  now  try  to  follow  out  my  experience 
in  elocution,  or  speechifying,  from  the  time  they  first  stood 
me  up  on  a  table  to  astonish  the  Friends  with  "  Pity  the 
sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man,"  up  to  this  very  day  ;  for  I  am 
constantly  called  upon  to  make  speeches,  or  to  lecture  upon 
all  sorts  of  subjects,  without  preparation.  It  may  furnish  a 
hint  hereafter,  to  the  timid  and  bashful,  who  are  troubled  alike 
with  self-distrust,  and  "with  the  nightmare  moauings  of  Am 
bition's  breast." 

At  the  age  of  twelve,  my  education  was  completed.  I 
never  went  to  school  another  day.  With  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic  I  was  familiar;  but  I  had  no  knowledge  of 
geography,  nor  of  English  grammar,  nor  indeed  of  any  one 
of  the  numberless  branches  now  taught  in  our  common 
schools.  I  was  put  behind  a  counter  in  a  retail  and  jobbing 
dry-goods  establishment,  kept  by  Munroe  and  Tuttle,  at  the 
corner  of  Union  and  Middle  Streets,  where  a  silversmith 
keeps  now,  and  where  my  progress,  for  a  while,  was  quite 
astonishing  in  all  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  as  I  may  have  occa 
sion  to  show  hereafter. 

I  had  been  to  a  Quaker  boarding-school  at  Windham, 
where  they  starved  and  froze  me  for  two  long  winters,  and 
where  I  learned,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  just 
nothing  at  all ;  to  a  Quaker  private  school ;  to  the  town- 
school,  kept  by  Master  Gregg  and  Master  Patten  ;  to  the 
Portland  Academy,  when  the  late  Dr.  Payson  was  preceptor ; 
and,  finally,  to  Master  Moody's  in  Union  Street.  In  both  of 
these  two  last-mentioned  establishments,  the  "  Columbian 


INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD.  29 

Orator''  was  a  text-book  ;  and  elocution  was  taught  in  a  way 
I  never  shall  forget —  never! 

AVe  had  a  yearly  exhibition  at  the  aeademy.  and  the  favor 
ites  of  the  preceptor  were  allowed  to  speak  a  pieee  ;  and  a 
pretty  time  they  had  of  it.  Somehow,  1  was  never  a  favorite 
with  anv  of  mv  teachers,  after  the  lirst  two  or  three  days; 
and.  as  1  went  barefooted,  I  dare  say  it  was  thought  unseemly, 
or  perhaps  cruel,  to  expose  me  upon  the  platform.  And  then, 
as  I  had  no  particular  aptitude  for  public  speaking,  and  no 
relish  for  what  was  called  oratory,  it  was  never  my  luck  to  be 
called  up.  Among  my  schoolmates,  however,  was  one.  a  very 
amiable,  shy  boy,  to  whom  —  parti v  on  account  of  his  2;ood 
clothes.  I  dare  say.  and  partly  on  account  of  his  father,  one 
of  our  wealthiest  merchants  —  was  assigned,  at  the  last  exhibi 
tion  I  attended,  that  passage  in  Pope's  Homer,  beginning  witL 
"  Aurora,  now  fair  daughter  of  the  dawn."  This  the  poor 
boy  gave  with  so  much  emphasis  and  discretion,  that,  to  me,  it 
sounded  like  ••  ()  roarer  !  "  and  I  was  wicked  enough,  out  of 
sheer  envy.  I  dare  say.  to  call  him  "  O  roarer!  "  —  a  nickname 
which  clung  to  him  for  a  long  while,  though  no  human  being 
ever  deserved  it  less  ;  for.  in  speech  and  action  both,  he  was 
quiet,  reserved,  and  sensitive,  as  everybody  who  knew 
Kdward  Cobb  will  acknowledge. 

My  next  experience  in  elocution  was  still  more  dishearten 
ing,  so  that  1  never  had  a  chance  of  showing  what  I  was  ca 
pable  of  in  that  way.  till  I  set  up  for  myself.  Master  Moody 
was  thought  to  have  uncommon  qualifications  for  teaching 
oratory.  He  was  a  large,  handsome,  heavy  man,  over  six 
feet  high  ;  and  having  understood  that  the  lirst,  second,  and 
third  pre-requisite  in  oratory  was  action,  the  boys  he  put  in 
training  were  encouraged  to  most  vehement  and  obstreper 
ous  manifestations.  Let  me  give  an  example,  and  one  that 
weighed  heavily  on  my  conscience  for  many  years  after  the 
poor  man  passed  away. 

Among  his  pupils  were  two  boys,  brothers,  named  Simpson, 
who  were  thought  highly  gifted  in  elocution.  The  master, 
who  was  evidently  of  that  opinion,  had  a  habit  of  parading 
them  on  all  occasions  before  visitors  and  strangers;  though 
one  had  lost  his  upper  front  teeth  and  lisped  badly,  and  the 
other  had  the  voice  of  a  penny-trumpet.  Week  after  week, 


30  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

these  two  boys  went  through  the  quarrel  of  Brutus  and  Cassius, 
for  the  benefit  of  myself  and  others,  to  see  if  their  example 
would  not  provoke  us  to  a  generous  competition  for  all  the 
honors.  How  it  operated  on  the  other  boys,  in  after  life,  I 
cannot  say  ;  but  the  effect  on  me  was  decidedly  unwholesome 
—  discouraging  indeed  —  until  I  was  old  enough  to  judge  for 
myself,  and  to  carry  into  operation  a  system  of  my  own  ;  be 
lieving  that  men  should  always  talk  —  I  do  not  say  they 
should  talk  always  —  on  paper  and  off,  on  the  platform  and 
at  the  bar,  in  the  senate-chamber,  and  at  the  dinner-table  —  if 
they  would  not  forego  all  the  advantages  of  experience  in 
private  life,  when  they  lanch  into  public  life. 

On  coming  to  the  passage,  "  Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your 
thunderbolts  —  dash  him  in  pieces!"  the  elder  of  the  two 
gave  it  after  the  following  fashion  :  "  Be  ready,  godths.  with  all 
your  thunderbolths  —  dath  him  in  pietheth  !  "  —  bringing  his 
right  fist  down  into  his  left  palm  with  all  his  strength,  and  his 
lifted  foot  upon  the  platform,  which  was  built  like  a  sounding- 
board,  so  that  the  master  himself,  who  had  suggested  the  ac 
tion,  and  obliged  the  poor  boy  to  rehearse  it,  over  and  over 
again,  appeared  to  be  utterly  carried  away  by  the  magnificent 
demonstration;  while  to  me  —  so  deficient  was  I  in  rhetorical 
taste  —  it  sounded  like  the  crash  of  broken  crockery,  inter 
mingled  with  chicken-peeps.  I  never  got  over  it ;  and,  to  this 
day,  cannot  endure  stamping,  nor  even  tapping  with  the  foot, 
although  it  be  with  the  delicate  emphasis  of  our  friend 
Everett,  when  prodigiously  in  earnest  —  for  him;  nor  clap 
ping  the  hands  together,  nor  thumping  the  table  for  illustra 
tion  ;  having  an  idea  that  'such  noises  are  not  oratory,  and 
that  untranslatable  sounds  are  not  language. 

My  next  essay  was  of  a  somewhat  different  kind.  I  took 
the  field  in  person,  being  in  my  nineteenth  year,  well-propor 
tioned,  and  already  beginning  to  have  a  sincere  relish  for 
poetry,  if  not  for  declamation ;  the  best  I  had  ever  heard,  at 
the  time,  having  been  that  of  a  large,  handsome  English 
woman,  who  recited  "Alexander's  Feast"  with  astonishing 
power,  and  not  a  little  grace. 

I  had  always  been  a  great  reader,  from  my  earliest  recollec 
tion,  reading,  year  after  year,  almost  every  thing  that  fell  in 
my  way,  except  newspapers  ;  but  all  this  I  must  withhold 


INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD.  31 

for  a  chapter  by  itself.  And,  in  the  course  of  my  foraging 
depredations.  I  had  met  with  "The  Sailor  Boy's  Dream."  and 
the  "  Luke  of  the  Dismal  Swamp."  both  of  which  I  had  com 
mitted  to  memory  before  I  knew  it  ;  for  I  was  never  much 
gifted  in  that  way.  and  to  this  hour  could  not  repeat  half  a 
dozen  consecutive  lines  of  my  own  poetry,  if  my  life  depended 
on  it  :  although  I  can  follow  a  dozen  speakers,  day  after  day, 
without  taking  a  note,  and  remember  the  substance  of  all  thev 
say.  and  sometimes  their  very  language,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
reply  to  their  arguments,  without  blundering  or  misrepresenta 
tion.  And  one  day,  happening  to  be  alone  with  mv  sister. 
and  newly  rigged  out  in  a  student's  gown,  such  as  the  lads  at 
Brunswick  sported,  when  they  came  to  show  olf  among  their 
old  companions —  though  mine  was  of  Scotch  gingham,  instead 
of  calico,  highly  glazed,  and  stiff  and  rustling,  like  heavy  silk, 
when  I  moved,  and  the  plaid  was  full  six  inches  square  and 
of  the  richest  colors  —  I  proposed  to  astonish  her  by  rehears 
ing  the<e  two  poems  in  appropriate  costume.  Being  very 
proud  of  her  brother,  and  verv  obliging,  she  consented  at 
once,  upon  the  condition,  however,  that  our  dear  mother,  who 
had  never  seen  anv  tiling  of  the  sort,  should  be  invited  to 
make  one  of  the  audience.  On  the  whole.  I  rather  think  that 
I  succeeded  in  astonishing  both.  1  well  remember  their  looks 
of  amazement  —  for  they  had  never  seen  any  thing  better,  or  — 
worse  —  in  all  their  lives,  and  were  no  judges  of  acting  —  as 
I  swept  to  and  fro  in  that  magnificent  robe,  with  outstretched 
arms  and  uplifted  eyes,  when  I  came  to  passages  like  the  fol 
lowing,  where  an  apostrophe  was  called  for  :  — 

"  Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  weeds, 
Through  manv  a  ten  where  the  serpent  feeds, 
And  man  ne'er  trod  before: 

And  ne:ir  him  the  she-wolf  stirred  the  brake, 
And  the  copper-snake  breathed  in  his  ear, 

Till,  starting,  he  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 

'  Oh  !  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  lake, 
And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear?  '  "  — 

certainly  among  the  finest  passages  ever  written  bv  Moore, 
and  altogether  above  the  best  of  his  later  compositions,  except 
a  few  lines  in  kk  Lallah  Rookh,''  where,  as  a  midnight  torrent 


32  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

pours  through  the  gorges  of  a  mountain,  "sweeping  the  flocks 
and  herds,"  a  tiger 

"  Chases  them  clown  their  thundering  Avay; 

Bloodying  the  stream  he  has  not  power  to  stay." 
Or  like  this  :  — 

"  0  sailor  boy !  sailor  boy !  peace  to  thy  shade ! 

Around  thy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow, 
Of  thy  fair  yellow  hair  threads  of  amber  be  made, 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below  "  — 

throwing  up  my  arms,  and  throwing  them  out,  in  every  possi 
ble  direction,  as  the  spirit  moved  me,  or  the  sentiment 
prompted  ;  for  I  have  always  encouraged  my  limbs  and  feat 
ures  to  think  for  themselves,  and  to  act  for  themselves,  and 
never  predetermined  —  never  forethought  —  a  gesture,  nor 
an  intonation,  in  all  my  life ;  and  should  as  soon  think  of 
counterfeiting  another's  look,  or  step,  or  voice,  or  of  modulat 
ing  my  own  by  a  pitch-pipe  —  as  the  ancient  orators  did,  with 
whom  oratory  was  acting-elocution,  a  branch  of  the  dramatic 
art  —  as  of  adopting  or  imitating  the  gestures  or  tones  of  the 
most  celebrated  rhetorician  I  ever  saw. 

The  result  was  quite  encouraging.  My  mother  and  sister 
were  both  satisfied.  At  any  rate,  they  said  nothing  to  the 
contrary.  Being  only  in  my  nineteenth  year,  what  might  I 
not  be  able  to  accomplish  after  a  little  more  experience  ? 
My  intonations,  I  know,  were  good ;  for  they  were  natural ; 
natural  to  myself,  I  mean,  and  essentially  characteristic,  I  am 
sure.  My  gesticulation,  too,  was  both  graceful  and  free, 
though  left-handed  for  a  long  while,  and  somewhat  superflu 
ous  ;  and  my  reading,  on  the  whole,  what  I  should  give  now, 
with  fifty  odd  jears  of  experience,  though  entirely  unlike 
that  of  any  other  person  I  ever  heard,  in  reciting  poetry. 
Declamation  I  abhor ;  acting  I  abominate,  in  description  or 
narrative ;  impersonation  is  one  thing,  representation  quite 
another ;  and  story-telling,  or  narrative,  another.  Yet  are 
they  generally  confounded.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  cele 
brated  Ogilvie's  rendering  of  these  two  lines  by  Walter  Scott: 

"Charge,  Chester,  charge!     On,  Stanle}',  on! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion." 


INCIDENTS    OF    CHILDHOOD.  33 

As  lie  drew  near  to  the  end  of  the  poem,  lie  prepared  for 
the  catastrophe,  by  deliberately  throwing  himself  down,  with 
his  whole-  length  upon  the  stage,  where  he  gave  the  last  five 
lines,  not  as  it'  he  were  describing  the  battle,  in  the  language 
of  another :  but  as  it'  he  were  Marmion  him.-elf.  and  the 
author  too.  In  other  words,  the  poor  fellow,  who  was  really 
a  fine  rhetorician,  and  a  beautiful  deelaimer,  according  to  the 
conventionalities  of  the  school,  misunderstood  acting  for  nar 
rative,  impersonation  for  story-telling,  representation  for 
speech.  But  others  do  this  —  and  others  of  great  reputa 
tion.  There  was  Edmund  Kean,  for  example,  who.  in  play 
ing  Richard,  always  barked  and  yelped,  when  he  came  to  the 
dog-passage:  and,  in  Sir  (iih-s  Overreach,  always  Jtow-ow- 
owlcd!  —  when  he  complained  of  the  wolves  for  howling  at 
him.  to  the  unspeakable  delight  of  the  illuminati  and  stage 
critics.  And  our  own  Cooper  used  to  give  the  passage  from 
Macbeth,— 

"Shall  plead  like  nnevK  trumpc-t-tongued ! 
'Ciuin>t  the  ck-t/p  damnation  ut'  his  taking  off,'1  — 

as  if  he  had  a  trumpet  in  his  throat,  literally  imitating  the 
voice  of  a  trumpet,  and  prolonging  the  sound,  tr-er-er-er- 
untpct !  — until  the  groundlings  were  half-crazy  with  wonder. 
The  only  public  reader  I  ever  knew,  who  did  not  sometimes, 
if  not  always,  confound  narrative  with  representation,  was 
Mr.  Smart,  of  London,  who  used  to  appear  in  the  Argyle 
rooms  —  by  far  the  best  dramatic  reader  1  ever  heard  in  my 
life,  and  altogether  superior  to  Thelwall.  who  inoculated  the 
whole  British  Parliament.  Lords  and  Commons,  and  about 
ninety-nine  out  of  everv  hundred  of  their  orators  and 
platform  speakers  —  barristers,  advocates,  and  preachers  — 
with  his  peculiar  intonation,  till  Mr.  George  Canning  and 
Mr.  Brougham  and  Sir  Francis  Burdett  were  almost  the  only 
distinguished  men  of  their  day.  who  had  voices  of  their  own, 
or  intonations  of  their  own,  upon  great  public  occasions, 
though  it  were  but  an  after-dinner  speech;  and  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Raffles,  of  Liverpool,  and  Rowland  Hill.  Dr.  Chalmers, 
Robert  Hall,  and  Kdward  Irving  were  almost  the  only 
preachers  who  did  not  appear  to  have  cast  aside  all  their 
natural,  distinguishing  characteristics  and  idiosyncrasies,  and 

3 


34  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

all  their  individuality  of  modulation,  in  obedience  to  the  fash 
ion  of  the  hour.  Of  the  hour  !  no  :  of  the  age  ;  for  something 
of  it  remains  to  this  day,  and  may  still  be  heard,  even  among 
ourselves,  from  such  of  our  platform-speakers,  and  pulpit  and 
parliamentary  orators,  as  had  their  training  at  Harvard,  under 
Dr.  Jonathan  Barber,  a  favorite  pupil  of  Thehvall.  And  to 
this  hour,  you  may  detect  it  in  some  of  the  finest  passages 
you  ever  hear  from  George  Thompson,  or  Wendell  Phillips ; 
'both  artificial  speakers  and  rhetoricians,  though  earnest  and 
eloquent,  and  exceedingly  captivating.  Would  that  we  might 
have  a  little  more  naturalness,  a  little  more  of  the  hearty 
wholesome  individuality  of  each  ;  and  we  might  well  forgive 
the  training  of  both. 

But  we  must  draw  rein,  and  prepare  for  another  chapter, 
wherein  our  later  experiences  may  be  detailed. 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  35 


CHAPTER   IV. 

GLIMMERING     PHANTASMAGORIA:     MORE     INCIDENTS 
OF    CHILDHOOD. 

P.ALTIMOUK  TKLEOKAPII;    MA1DKX   SPKKCil:    PKKPA RATIONS  FOR  TIIK  BAT.; 
1'KIVATE    THKATKH  AL>;    T1IK   DKLl'lII ANs. 

Di:c.  S.  ISC.C,.  —  Our  line  weather  still  continues,  the  finest 
I  ever  knew  for  the  season,  and  the  most  favorable  for  build 
ing.  We-  have  rain  almost  every  night,  beginning  after  the 
day's  work  is  over,  and  clearing  off  before  laborers  beijin 
anew  in  the  morning;  and  then  we  have  it  almost  always 
clear  and  pleasant.  Of  course.  I  have  my  hands  full,  and 
this  little  book  must  continue  "  to  dra<j  its  slow  length  aloiifj," 
until  1  have  time  to  rest  awhile,  and  look  about,  and  bethink 
myself  of  what  may  be  most  enduring,  and  most  palatable ; 
for  I  shall  probably  never  write  another,  unless,  to  be  sure,  I 
should  happen  to  tip  over  the  crucible,  in  which  a  vast  accu 
mulation  of  what  I  should  call,  if  it  belonged  to  another,  the 
golden  ore  of  poetry,  has  been  seething  and  simmering  for 
the  last  five  or  six  years. 

Portland  is  going  up  —  not  as  on  the  last  Fourth  of  July, 
in  a  chariot  of  fire,  but  with  the  calm,  stately  movement,  and 
occasional  magnificence,  that  we  should  look  for  in  a  material 
resurrection.  Already,  we  are  talking  about  lending  the 
credit  of  the  city  to  those  who  are  not  quite  able  to  build 
without  help  ;  issuing  bonds  for  a  long  period,  supplying  a 
proportion  of  what  help  may  be  needed,  at  a  fair,  indemnify 
ing  interest,  and  taking  mortgages  for  security.  The  project 
is  worthy  of  our  most  enterprising,  liberal,  and  sagacious  men 
of  business,  with  whom  it  originated  ;  and.  rightly  managed, 
must  succeed,  just  as  a  similar  movement  did,  in  favor  of  the 
Atlantic  and  St.  Lawrence  Railway  —  now  the  Grand  Trunk 
—  which,  but  for  this  timely  help,  might  never  have  been  built, 
and  which  has  so  accelerated  our  growth,  and  so  strengthened 


30  "WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

us.  without  any  unhealthy  stimulus,  that  our  population  has 
doubled,  and  our  taxable  valuation  trebled,  since  the  road  was 
opened. 

By  the  way  —  among  the  incidents  of  my  earliest  child 
hood  are  two,  which  I  intended  to  mention,  but  forgot,  in  my 
hurry  to  close  the  chapter,  and  which  I  want  off  my  mind. 

My  grandfather  had  a  farm-hand  who  took  a  great  fancy  to 
me,  and  when  I  was  not  more  than  two  years  old,  or  at  the 
most  two  and  a  half — judging  by  the  facts  I  have  already 
mentioned  —  he  made  me  a  kitten-yoke,  and  gave  me  a  pair 
of  the  prettiest  kittens  I  ever  saw  :  I  have  seen  nothing  like 
them  since.  How  long  I  played  with  them,  I  do  not  remem 
ber  ;  nor  do  I  know  what  became  of  them ;  but  they  disap 
peared  quite  suddenly  one  day,  and  I  have  heard  nothing  of 
them  since.  Undoubtedly,  they  went  the  way  of  all  kittens, 
after  they  begin  to  overstock  the  market ;  but  to  me  it  was  a 
great  mystery :  and  if  the  poor  little  things  had  been  caught 
up,  while  I  was  playing  with  them,  and  whisked  off  out  of 
sight,  by  hawk  or  buzzard,  or  if  they  had  vanished  into  thin 
air  while  I  was  watching  them,  yoke  and  all,  I  should  not 
have  been  more  puzzled,  nor  astonished.  Only  one  other 
case  of  perplexity  do  I  remember  that  will  compare  with 
this ;  and  I  must  acknowledge  that,  for  a  long  while,  I  had 
no  faith  in  the  explanations  that  were  offered  me.  There 
came  up  one  bright  summer  afternoon,  toward  nightfall,  a 
prodigious  hail-storm  —  the  first  I  had  ever  seen,  or  heard  of. 
Being  always  inquisitive  and  much  in  earnest,  I  gathered  a 
wooden  dish  full  of  the  little  white  beads,  before  they  missed 
me  from  the  porch ;  and  hid  it  away  where  nobody  would  be 
likely  to  stumble  over  it.  But,  alas  !  when  I  went  for  my 
little  treasure,  instead  of  the  white  beads,  or  seed-pearl,  I  had 
gathered  by  handfuls,  I  found  nothing  but  a  little  dirty  water. 
It  was  in  vain  they  told  me  that  my  hailstones  had  melted  ; 
I  did  not'  believe  them,  and  I  could  not.  And  as  I  grew  older, 
and  came  to  hear  about  hailstones  and  coals  of  fire  mingled 
together,  it  seemed  still  more  unlikely  ;  for  I  had  seen  noth 
ing  that  resembled  coals  of  fire,  and  if  there  was  any  light 
ning,  I  do  not  remember  it.  To  me,  it  was  like  the  manna 
gathered  by  the  children  of  Israel,  without  permission  —  a 
little  round  thing  that  wouldn't  keep.  Trivial  though  such 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  37 

inciden-ts  may  be  in  themselves,  vet,  if  they  are  remembered 
to  the  last  by  an  aged  man,  they  must  have  had  their  influ 
ence  upon  the  child  —  at  an  age,  too,  when  the  slightest 
touch  mav  outlast  both  engraving  and  sculpture.  If  I  may 
trust  my  memory,  the  loss  of  my  sled,  the  loss  of  my  kitten- 
yoke  and  little  steers,  and  the  loss  of  my  seed  pearl,  were  the 
sorest  of  my  trials,  up  to  the  age  of  twelve  ;  though  I  was 
once  whipped  bv  my  grandfather  to  make  me  remember  what 
I  verv  soon  forgot  —  so  severelv  that  others  remembered  it 
for  me  a  long  while,  though  I  did  not.  It  seems  that  I  was 
playing  on  the  Moor  with  an  open  penknife  ;  that  my  dear 
old  grandmother,  who  was  bedridden  at  the  time,  and  had 
been  so  for  many  a  long  year,  insisted  on  my  giving  it  into 
her  hand.  I  refused,  pretending  not  to  hear,  and  feeling 
pretty  safe  on  account  of  her  helplessness  ;  but  she  persisted, 
until  I  ilung  the  knife  at  her  —  the  point  of  which  hit  one  of 
the  glasses  of  her  spectacles,  and  shivered  it  in  pieces.  For 
this — instead  of  skinning  me  alive,  as  lie  might  have  been 
jusiiiied  in  doing,  by  many  a  school-master  —  he  took  me  out 
into  the  wood-house,  where  I  had.  not  long  before,  put  away 
my  wooden  dish  of  seed  pearl,  and  there  trounced  me  as  I 
deserved,  I  hope  ;  telling  me.  from  time  to  time,  that  he  guessed 
I  should  remember  that  knife  the  longest  day  I  had  to  live, 
lint  the  old  gentleman  was  mistaken.  Whether  I  made  it  a 
point  to  forget  the  whole  affair  —  knife,  spectacles,  and  whip 
ping  —  before  I  slept.  I  cannot  say  ;  but  I  remember  when  I 
iirst  heard  the  story  from  aunt  Ruth  Xeal,  I  believe  that  it 
had  "  gone  from  me,"  like  Nebuchadnezzar's  dream,  and  I 
thought  it  must  have  happened  to  some  other  little  boy.  And 
this  it  is  that  puzzled  me  at  the  age  I  speak  \jf:  that  I 
should  remember  so  distinctly  the  freshet  and  the  speechifying, 
and  wholly  forget  the  loss  of  my  poor  toe  —  or  the  cut,  rather, 
whereby  I  came  so  near  losing  it  —  and  the  whipping  I  haVe 
mentioned.  What  are  the  laws  of  association  with  children 
of  that  age,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 

And  here  two  other  trifling  incidents  occur  to  me,  which 
I  distinctly  remember,  while  others  of  much  greater  compar 
ative  importance  are  wholly  forgotten.  For  example,  I  re 
member  one  day,  when  somebody  was  carding  a  heap  of 
black  wool  in  the  kitchen,  seeing  what  I  supposed  to  be  a 


38  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

stray  lock  under  the  table,  that  I  stooped  for  it ;  and  when  I 
reached  out  my  hand,  it  ran  away ;  and  then  they  told  me 
that  I  came  near  catching  a  mousie.  A  mousie !  I  had 
never  heard  of  such  a  creature ;  and  the  mortification  I  felt, 
on  being  laughed  at,  for  my  astonishing  ignorance.  I  never  shall 
forget  in  this  world,  I  am  sure.  At  another  time,  they  were 
cruel  enough  to  scream  with  laughter,  on  seeing  me  horse  one 
of  my  little  short  legs  over  the  other,  and  begin  to  nurse  it 
before  a  hot  fire,  as  my  grandfather  and  all  the  Friends,  who 
wore  breeches  and  woollen  stockings,  were  in  the  habit  of  do 
ing  by  the  hour.  But  enough. 

Trifles,  or  what  serious  men  would  call  trifles,  often  deter 
mine  our  course  of  action  for  a  while,  and  sometimes  for  life. 
The  more  headlong  our  speed,  the  more  perfect  our  adjust 
ment,  the  more  easily  are  we  thrown  out  of  gear  and  groove. 
A  pebble  or  a  touch  may  throw  a  long  train  of  cars  off  the 
track,  while  it  is  running  sixty  miles  an  hour,  when  a  drove 
of  cattle  would  not,  if  it  were  going  slowly.  Trifling  mortifi 
cations  have  caused  me  more  lasting  disquietude  than  the 
heaviest  and  sorest  calamities. 

How  little  did  I  think  —  to  go  back  once  more  to  the  last 
stopping-place,  where  I  began  to  wood  up— <-  how  little  did  I 
think,  while  rehearsing  the  two  poems  mentioned  in  my  last, 
before  my  mother  and  sister,  that  any  thing  serious  would  ever 
come  of  it,  or  that  I  was  laying  the  foundations  of  character  for 
life,  or  that  I  was  beginning  what  I  should  not  be  able  to  finish 
within  the  next  forty  or  fifty  years  following.  Yet  so  it  was. 
I  had  broken  the  ice,  without  knowing  it ;  and  all  the  glimmer 
ing  phantasmagoria  I  have  mentioned,  were  but  the  foreshad 
owing  of  what  happened  long  afterward.  As  indications  of 
character,  they  should  not  be  overlooked,  any  more  than  the 
spontaneous  growth  of  a  strange  soil  that  we  may  desire  to 
become  acquainted  with. 

Not  long  after  this  outbreak,  when  I  burst  away  from  the 
hiding-place  I  had  so  long  occupied,  into  the  flowery  region 
of  poetry  and  rhetoric.  I  left  the  employment  of  Mr.  George 
Hill,  who  kept  a  retail  haberdashery  in  Muzzey's  Row,  front 
ing  Union  Street,  Portland,  and  went  into  a  sort  of  copartner 
ship  with  a  Mr.  Rockwell,  a  Connecticut  writing-master,  who 
wandered  about  the  country,  teaching  penmanship  in  twelve 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  39 

lessons,  for  which  he  received  five  dollars,  and  was  constantly 
occupied,  all  day  lonir  and  every  evening,  with  large  classes  ; 
having  supplanted  Wrifford  entirely. 

He  was  indeed  a  most  beautiful  penman,  the  best  I  ever 
met  with  for  large  hand.  German  text,  printing,  flourishing, 
and  the  ornamental  branches,  including  swans  and  eagles,  for 
which  he  wa>  unrivalled  :  but  his  running-hand,  though  clear 
as  copper-plate,  wanted  freedom  and  ease,  and  all  that,  should 
charactcrixe  mercantile  penmanship,  or  a  business  hand,  for 
which,  by  the  way.  I  was  alreadv  quite  celebrated.  lie  took 
a  prodigious  fancy  to  my  style,  and  I  to  his;  out  of  which 
grew  the  relationship  above  referred  to,  which  lasted  just 
loii<j  enough  to  satist'v  me  that  I  was  in  the  hands  of  a  sharp 
er  ;  and  that,  in  leaving  a  salary  of  eighty  dollars  a  year  and 
my  board,  for  the  live  hundred  a  year  guaranteed  me  by  my 
new  friend,  I  was  jumping  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire, 
and  was  not  likely  to  see  much  more  of  the  world  than  I 
might  behind  the  counter.  But  I  entered  upon  my  new  busi 
ness  with  jjreat  zeal,  and  opened  cry  at  Brunswick,  with  a 
class  from  the  college,  and  quite  a  number  of  private  inquir 
ers  :  some  of  whom  had  never  had  a  pen  in  their  hands.  Yet 
with  one,  the  wife  of  my  landlord,  a  woman  of  thirty-five  or 
forty,  I  succeeded  so  well.  that,  at  the  end  of  her  twelve  lessons, 
she  was  not  only  able  to  write  her  name  so  that  her  husband 
could  read  it.  after  boggling  over  it  for  a  few  moments,  but  so 
that  she  could  read  it  herself  without  help,  when  it  was  writ 
ten  at  full  length,  in  large  letters.  From  this  hour,  my  repu 
tation  was  established.  I  was  in  great  favor  with  the  young 
people  wherever  I  appeared,  and  for  a  while,  every  thing  went 
smoothly  enough.  One  exception,  however,  occurs  to  me.  I 
was  at  Brunswick  on  the  Fourth  of  July  ;  on  the  fifth  I  went 
to  call  upon  a  niece  of  Dr.  Page.  On  entering  the  room, 
where  I  heard  female  voices  in  full  cry,  there  was  a  terrific 
scream,  and  then  a  crash,  as  if  the  floor  had  given  way  under 
my  feet  —  and  then  another,  and  another,  as  I  tried  to  save 
mvself.  The  room  was  dark,  and  the  floor  was  literally  cov 
ered  with  wine-glasses  and  tumblers  and  pitchers,  without  in 
cluding  myself.  This  faux  pas  —  I  hate  French  where  Kng- 
lish  may  be  had  —  cost  me  a  pretty  penny,  when  -I  could 
ill  afford  to  be  lavish  even  of  pennies  ;  but  I  carried  it  off 


40  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

with  an  air,  so  that  nobody  suspected  my  deplorable  condi 
tion. 

It  was  here  at  Brunswick,  in  the  north  front  parlor  of  a 
two-story  frame-house,  yet  standing,  and  then  called,  if  I  do 
not  mistake,  the  "  Stoddard  House,"  that  I  made  my  second 
essay  in  rhetoric,  or  rather  in  declamation.  The  weather 
was  warm  and  sultry,  and  my  student's  gown  was  a  real 
comfort,  being  both  new  and  showy ;  and  so,  after  school- 
hours,  I  would  saunter  off  toward  the  Falls,  and  loiter  away 
an  hour  or  two,  where  my  splendid  out-fit  never  failed  to  be 
received  with  unbounded  applause.  Nothing  like  it  had  ever 
been  seen  in  that  part  of  the  world,  nor,  as  I  now  believe, 
in  any  other.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  me.  I  was  made  for 
something  better ;  I  was  no  longer  a  shop-boy.  I  had  turned 
my  back  upon  the  mysteries  of  retailing,  and  felt  inclined  to 
set  up  for  myself  —  I  cared  little  how,  and  not  much  where ; 
and  when  the  larger  students,  who  were  undergoing  pen 
manship  with  me,  would  drop  in,  after  the  labors  of  the  day 
were  over,  to  have  a  little  gossip  over  the  pretty  girls  of 
Portland  —  who  were  just  beginning  to  make  a  noise  in  the 
world,  which,  between  ourselves,  they  have  kept  up  ever 
since  —  I  soon  found  that  I  was  getting  to  be  an  acknowl 
edged  institution.  But  we  could  not  always  talk  about  the 
girls,  much  as  the  boys  seemed  to  desire  it ;  and  so,  one  swel 
tering  afternoon  —  I  remember  it  well  —  I  undertook  to 
astonish  them,  "  by  particular  desire,"  as  I  had  mv  mother  and 
sister,  with  the  "  Sailor  Boy's  Dream,"  and  Moore's  "  Dis 
mal  Swamp." 

And  I  succeeded  again  ;  -  for  they  assured  me  with  all  seri 
ousness —  I  wonder  how  they  kept  their  countenances  —  but, 
then,  they  were  young,  and  had  no  great  experience  of  the 
world  —  that  they  had  never  heard  any  thing  like  it  before  ; 
and  I  believed  them  —  as  I  do  at  this  day,  though  for  a  differ 
ent  reason  perhaps.  I  had  taken  care  to  have  all  "  my  sing 
ing  robes  "  about  me  in  their  newest  gloss,  before  I  struck  the 
first  attitude,  and  saw  plainly,  long  before  I  had  got  through, 
that  I  was  making  a  profound  impression  of  some  sort.  I  did 
not  stop  to  inquire  what,  nor  have  I  since ;  for  they  went 
away  whispering  together,  and  occasionally  nudging  one 
another  as  they  passed  my  window,  and  soon  brought  others 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  41 

to  hear  me.  So  much  for  •*  my  first  appearance  on  any 
stage."  The  next  was.  or  came  near  being,  a  debut,  with  a 
vengeance.  Let  me  give  the  particulars. 

1  was  living  i»  Portsmouth.  New  Hampshire:  having 
abandoned  penmanship,  drawing,  and  the  manufacture  of  In 
dian-ink  miniatures  —  which  yielded  a  pretty  return,  after  I 
found  out.  that,  with  a  few  trilling  alterations.  I  could  sell 
what  were  left  on  my  hands  to  almost  anybody  else  of  the 
same  sex.  and  about  the  s-ame  age.  so  much  alike  were  they 

—  and    had   gone    back    behind    the    counter   once  more,  and 
was   the  head-clerk  and   chief  bottle-washer,  or  salesman,  of 
Mr.    James    Kundlet  :    one    of    the   wealthiest   and    worthiest 
of  our    Portsmouth   business  men.  and  brother-in-law  of  the 
Mr.  Hill  I  had  been  with  in  Portland.      He  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  me  long  before,  he  said,  from  a  little  circumstance,  which  I 
had  forgotten. 

Here,  after  I  had  been  settled  about  six  months,  a  number 
of  the  young  fashionables  of  the  day  took  it  into  their  heads 

—  I  know  not  why,  for  I  had  never  undertaken   to  astonish 
them  with    my  representations,  or   misrepresentations,  which, 
after   all,   may    be    the   true    reason  —  that   I   was    made   for 
an   actor,  that    I   must    have   seen    a  great  deal  of  the  world, 
and  was  gifted  with   uncommon   dramatic  aptitude.      And   so, 
after  holding  a  consultation  with  all  the  noisy  little  romps  we 
were  acquainted  with,  and  for  which  Portsmouth  was  already 
famous  —  pretty  girls  were  they,  who,  for  lack  of  something 
better  to  do,  used  to  parade  the  streets  after  dark,  and  espe 
cially  on  moonlight  evenings,  linked  arm   in   arm,  and  hustle 
strangers  off  the  sidewalk,  and  were  even  said  to  have  held  a 
little  dapper  parson,  who  had  just  been  settled  there,  under 
the  nose  of  a  pump,  till   he  consented  never  to  betray  their 
names,  whatever  he   mi<:ht  choose   to   reveal  of  their  pranks 
(the  gentleman   is   now   a    D.D.,   and   enjoys   the    reputation 
he  has   obtained,  with   so  much  self-complacency,  that  I  dare 
not  give  his  name)  —  they  organized  an  association  ;  and  being 
encouraged    by    the    leading    fathers    of   the    town,  they   put 
'•  Douglas,"  and  the  "  Beau's  Stratagem  "  in  rehearsal,  assign 
ing  to  me  —  to  me!  — who  had  never  seen  a  play  but  once  in  all 
my  life,  nor  the  inside  of  a  theatre  but  twice  ;  the  first  time 
when  I  was  not  over  eight  or  ten   vears  of  age,  and   had  ob- 


42  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

tained,  rather  unfairly,  I  must  acknowledge,  the  consent  of  my 
poor  mother,  who  thought  I  was  only  making  believe,  to  see 
"  Blue  Devils,"  "by  particular  desire,"  from  which  representa 
tion,  I  was  lugged  off  by  the  ears  between  two  of  her  Friends, 
before  I  had  time  to  see  any  thing  more  than  a  heavy  green 
baize  curtain,  with  a  candle  moving  behind  it,  which  1  mis 
took  for  a  star,  and  two  personages,  male  and  female,  one  of 
whom  bothered  me  beyond  expression  by  saying,  me  father  ; 
and  the  second  time,  after  I  had  run  up  to  manhood,  when  I 
saw  Mr.  Duff  play  "  Rolla,"  and  "•  Tekeli,"  both  on  the  same 
night,  much  to  my  gratification,  though  he  was  exceeding] v 
obstreperous  —  ay,  to  me,  with  my  limited  experience,  they 
assigned  the  part  of  Glenalvon,  which  nobody  but  George 
Frederick  Cooke  had  ever  been  able  to  do  any  thing  with,  and 
that  of  Captain  Beauregard,  in  the  "  Beau's  Stratagem  "  —  if  I 
do  not  mistake  the  play  —  a  dashing  military  gentleman,  who, 
among  other  pleasantries,  not  much  in  my  way,  as  a  Quaker, 
was  obliged  to  sing  two  or  three  songs  —  a  business  for  which 
I  was  about  as  well  qualified  —  but  this  must  be  between  our 
selves  —  as  the  poor  country  boy,  who,  when  he  betook  him 
self  to  the  old  empty  garret  for  the  purpose  of  trying  on 
"  Old  Hundred,"  by  himself,  without  being  laughed  at,  as  he 
had  been  before,  both  at  the  singing-school,  and  in  the  hay 
mow,  had  a  message  from  the  old  gentleman  below  —  mean 
ing  his  father  —  to  tlie  effect  that  he  never  allowed  anybody 
under  his  roof  to  saw  boards  on  the  sabbath. 

Nevertheless,  we  were  not  discouraged  ;  and  our  rehears 
als  were  continued,  by  piecemeal,  week  after  week,  until  we 
were  almost  ready  for  the  public.  For  Lady  Randolph,  we 
had  Austin,  a  very  pleasant  young  gentleman,  with  quite  a 
womanly  carriage,  and  a  thin,  piping  voice,  which  he  turned 
to  good  account  in  the  wailing  passages.  I  remember  the 
modulation  perfectly  to  this  day,  as  he  gave  — 

"  Ye  woods  and  wilds,  whose  melancholy  gloom 
Accords  with  my  soul's  sadness, 
Within  your  shades  I  deem  some  spirit  dwells 
That  hears  and  answers  to  Matilda's  moan, ''  — 

and  could  give  it  now,  as  I  could  that  of  young  Norval,  whose 
representative,  Mr.  John  Sheafe,  had  just  returned  from  see- 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  43 

incr  the  part  performed  by  Master  Paine,  the  young  American 
Roscius,  in  almost  every  passage,  from  — 

"We  soon  o'ertook  the  spoil-encumbered  foe: 
\\  e  fought  and  —  conquei'-er-er-ered  ! 
Kre  a  sword  was  drawn,  an  arrow  from  my  bow 
Had  pieived  their  chief,  who  wore  that  day  the  arms 
Which  now  /  wear"  — 

to  —  ''Never  before  stood  I  in  such  a  presence;"  .  .  .  "Re 
turning  homeward  from  Messinas  port,  a  rude  and  boisterous 
captain  of  the  sea  fastened  a  quarrel  on  him*'  —  and  up  to 
the  catastrophe,  where  he  says  faintly,  and  with  his  dying 
breath.  "The  villain  came  behind  me  —  but  /  slew  him  /"  — 
all  which  were  literal  transcripts  of  Master  Paine,  after  he 
had  been  thoroughly  trained  by  Fennel. 

My  part  was  fully  committed  :  —  and  so  indeed  was  I  —  up  to 
the  grand  rehearsal,  the  very  last  before  we  were  to  let  in  the 
outsiders,  it  seemed  to  be  well  received  ;  especially  in  the  pas 
sages  1  tried  to  make  the  most  of,  such  for  example  as  — 

"So!  Lady  Kimdolph  loves  him  ! 
lly  and  by  I'll  woo  her  as  the  lion  woos  his  bride!  " 

and  this  :  — 

"  Burning  Hell ! 
This  were  thy  centre,  if  I  thought  she  loved  him!  " 

which  I  gave  with  prodigious  effect,  staring  at  the  floor,  as 
if  I  saw  through  it.  with  my  body  bent  forward,  and  both 
hands  pressed  convulsively  upon  what  I  then  believed  to  be 
the  region  of  the  heart.  I  came  near  bringing  down  the  plat 
form,  if  not  the  house  :  the  result  of  which  last  grand  re 
hearsal  was,  that  the  parts  were  changed,  and  mine  was  given 
to  a  Mr.  Harris,  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  with  black  eyes,  the 
whites  of  which  were  terribly  conspicuous,  under  the  direc 
tion  of  Mr.  Sheafe,  who  had  seen  Cooke,  and  was  quite  sure 
that  the  parting  look  he  gave  in  some  of  his  exits  wras  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  tragic  power.  But  the  idea  of  a  public  rep 
resentation  was  abandoned :  the  whole  thing  fell  through  ; 
and  I  went  back  to  my  retail  business,  with  a  feeling  of  satis 
faction  I  had  never  before  entertained. 

I  may  as  well  add,  perhaps,  that  here,  too.  I  had  all  my 
u  singing  robes  "  about  me  —  meaning  the  student's  robe  I  have 


44  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

mentioned,  when  I  thundered  and  lightened,  and  marched  and 
countermarched,  through  that  soliloquy.  Hence  much  of  the 
effect,  I  am  sure.  I  did  not  then  know,  having  only  seen  Mr. 
Duff,  that  soliloquies  are  not  to  be  declaimed,  though  they 
almost  always  are,  even  to  this  day.  How  stranue !  Off  the 
stage,  we  can  always  tell,  by  the  modulation  of  his  voice, 
whether  a  man  in  the  next  room  is  talking  to  himself  hon 
estly  and  fairly,  or  only  making  believe.  We  cannot  be 
deceived :  we  should  never  mistake  imitation  or  counterfeit, 
for  the  truth,  were  we  to  overhear  a  lunatic  or  a  street 
walker. 

That  particular  modulation  is  never  heard  upon  the  stage ; 
but  we  have  accepted  a  conventional  tone,  so  that  stage 
soliloquies  are  but  rehearsals  or  declamations.  A  blind  man, 
overhearing  them,  would  know  for  a  certainty  that  the  speaker 
was  not  alone,  and  was  not  talking  to  himself. 

At  the  time  I  speak  of,  I  was  in  my  twentieth  year,  well 
grown,  active,  and  alert;  ambitious,  too,  and  not  easily  dis 
couraged;  anxious  to  "do,  I  knew  not  what,"  like  old  Lear, 
with  no  idea  of  what  I  was  good  for,  or  capable  of. 

As  for  what  is  called  oratory,  or  elocution  rather,  I 
knew  it  was  in  me  ;  and.  like  Sheridan,  I  was  determined  "  to 
have  it  out  "  —  and  the  sooner,  the  better.  Still  no  opportunity 
offered,  until  I  was  a  member  of  the  Delphian  Club  at  Balti 
more,  when  I  had  reached  the  age  of  twenty-three,  or  there 
abouts.  Our  treasury  being  low,  we  set  the  members  talking 
and  writing,  to  entrap  them  into  forfeitures,  under  one  pre 
tence  or  another.  Most  of  us  tried  our  hand  at  what  our 
secretary  called  ex-trumpery  speaking;  but  we  found  it 
wouldn't  pay,  though  we  did.  All  of  us  fell  short  of  what 
might  have  been  reasonably  expected  —  all  who  made  the 
attempt,  I  should  say ;  for  two  or  three  of  the  brethren  had 
large  experience  at  the  bar,  General  Winder  being  an  accom 
plished  advocate,  and  William  Gwinn,  and  Breckinridge,  re 
spectable  attorneys,  to  say  nothing  of  Mr.  Pierpont,  my  old 
partner  in  business ;  but,  after  all,  I  rather  think  mine  was 
the  most  pitiable  failure,  because  too  much  was  expected  of 
me.  I  was  then  studying  law  with  General  Winder,  and  my 
best  friends  did  not  seem  to  know  that  an  after-supper  speech 
cannot  be  made  by  the  unpractised  speaker,  any  more  than 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  45 

an  after-dinner  speech  :  that  pleasantry  and  playfulness  are 
the  after  growth  of  great  experience,  much  trial,  and  many  a 
failure  :  that  among  the  last  acquirements  of  an  orator  are  the 
readiness  and  self-possession  we  must  have1  in  familiar  talk, 
and  a  frank,  free,  conversational  style,  standing  up. 

For  the  purpose  of  replenishing  our  treasury.  \ve  set  a 
variety  of  traps  lor  the  brethren.  One  was  to  limit  their 

speeches  to  three  minutes,  or  livt 1  forget  which  —  and  to 

tine  them,  if  they  passed  over  the  time,  though  they  were  not 
allowed  to  look  at  a  watch  :  another  was  to  oblige  all  who 
spoke,  to  speak  for  just  three  minutes,  at  their  peril,  on  the 
same  conditions.  l>ut  this  fell  through,  after  a  brief  trial  :  and 
our  forced  contributions  were  obtained  on  easier  terms,  amount 
ing  at  last  to  "  stand  and  deliver  !  " 

And  this  reminds  me  of  a  little  incident  which  happened 
about  the  time  we  were  trying  to  raise  the  wind,  without 
goin<j  at  once  on  the  highway.  Two  or  three  of  us  Delphians 
were  dining  at  the  house  of  a  friend.  On  the  table  was  a 
plate  of  hard  crackers,  or  biscuit.  Some  talk  was  had  about 
the  diilicultv  of  swallowing  them,  without  the  help  of  water. 
Somebodv  declared  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  human 
being  to  eat  live  of  these  little  crackers,  without  drinking. 
''But  in  how  long  a  time?"  said  our  President,  Pertinax 
Particular.  "In  five  minutes.''  was  the  answer.  u  I'll  bet 
you  half  a  dozen  of  wine."  said  the  President,  firing  up,  as 
only  Dr.  Tobias  AYatkins  could  lire  up.  on  such  an  occasion, 
lie  being  a  capital  surgeon,  and  valuing  himself  especially  on 
all  that  concerned  deglutition,  physiology,  anatomy,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  sciences,  —  "  I'll  bet  you  half  a  dozen  that  I 
can  eat  live  of  those  biscuit  —  not  crackers,  if  you  please  — 
biscuit,  sir.  biscuit  —  within  live  minutes,  and  without  drink 
ing  a  drop.''  —  ••  Done  !  —  and  who  shall  time  you  ?  "  —  '•  The 
Vice-President."  —  '•  Agreed."  And  so  Mr.  Pierpont,  our 
Viee-President,  lugged  out  his  watch,  and  sat,  with  one  elbow 
on  the  table,  and  with  eyes  lixed  upon  its  face,  while 
Watkins  went  to  wrork.  The  first  two  or  three  were  soon 
disposed  of;  but  the  fourth  began  to  be  troublesome,  and 
lonir  before  he  had  got  through  with  the  fifth,  he  began  to 
breathe  short,  to  grow  very  red  in  the  face,  and  to  shift 
about  in  his  chair,  as  if  undergoing  strangulation.  At  last, 


46  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

after  two  or  three  convulsive  gasps,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
Mr.  Pierpont,  he  succeeded  in  swallowing  the  last  mouthful ; 
and,  springing  from  his  chair,  he  asked,  in  a  voice  so  husky 
as  to  be  almost  inaudible,  how  long  he  had  been  at  work. 

"Just  six  minutes  and  a  half,"  said  Mr.  Pierpont,  without 
a  change  of  countenance. 

And  then  wasn't  there  a  shout !  I  never  heard  men  laugh 
more  heartily,  nor,  if  I  must  own  up,  more  unfeelingly.  The 
poor  doctor  was  almost  beside  himself  with  suppressed  rage : 
he  couldn't  see  the  joke  —  not  he ;  and,  while  he  sat  puffing 
and  blowing,  seemed  to  believe,  almost,  that  he  had  been 
cruelly  betrayed,  and  perhaps  cheated.  Nor  do  I  believe 
that  he  ever  forgot  or  forgave  the  trick,  to  his  dying  day, 
though  he  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  men  I  ever  knew, 
and  eminently  good-natured,  but  a  man  who  could  not  bear 
to  be  laughed  at.  This  anecdote  will  give  some  idea  of  how 
the  Delphians  passed  their  "  learned  leisure,"  how  I  prepared 
for  the  bar,  and  how  I  studied  elocution. 

After  this  —  a  long  while  after,  I  should  say  now  —  having 
been  admitted  to  the  bar,  I  was  engaged  for  the  defence  of  a 
man  charged  with  receiving  stolen  goods,  knowing  them-  to 
be  stolen.  It  was  my  first  case  ;  and  I  had  been  retained,  and 
not  only  retained,  but  handsomely  feed,  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  late  Colonel  Edes,  of  the  Baltimore  "  Telegraph,"  who  was 
actually  paying  me  at  the  time  about  five  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  with  board  in  his  family,  for  my  editorial  help  on  that 
paper. 

And  here  I  achieved  my  maiden  speech,  without  prepa 
ration  —  that  is,  without  premeditation,  for  I  was  master  of 
all  the  facts,  and  all  the  law,  and  if  I  had  been  called  upon 
to  argue  the  case  in  writing,  or  in  my  seat.  I  believe  the 
poor  fellow  would  have  been  set  free ;  but  having  to  stand  up 
in  a  crowded  court-room,  with  the  eyes  of  all  my  brethren 
of  the  bar  fixed  upon  me,  and  the  outsiders  who  knew  some 
thing  of  my  past  life,  and  were  expecting  altogether  too  much, 
leaning  forward  with  eager  countenances  —  and  all  about  me 
silent  as  death  —  I  managed,  in  about  fifteen  minutes  after  I 
rose,  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  to  so  muddle  the  case  that 
nobody  understood  it,  and  to  send  my  unhappy  client  to  the 
penitentiary  —  out  of  which  he  was  pardoned,  upon  such 


GLIMMERING    PHANTASMAGORIA.  47 

a  representation  of  the  facts  as  I  could  have  put  in  writing, 
upon  the  spot,  in  fifteen  minutes.  So  much  for  my  maiden 
speech.  One  of  my  best  friends,  and  sincerest  admirers,  took 
the  earliest  opportunity,  of  saving,  just  as  if  he  were  only 
reporting  the  settled  opinion  of  others,  if  not  of  the  public  at 
lame,  that,  whatever  else  I  might  do,  I  should  never  be  able 
to  make  a  speech. 

Whereupon,  I  determined  to  disappoint  them  all  :  but  I 
was  in  no  hurry.  I  had  a  theory  of  my  own,  wholly  opposed 
to  that  which  prevailed  everywhere  at  the  time,  and  a  theory 
which  I  have  since  verified  ;  but  of  all  this,  hereafter.  And 
1  have  only  to  add,  that,  with  unpremeditated  speaking,  as  with 
languages,  literature,  law,  and  poetry,  the  mere  spirit  of  con 
tradiction —  the  desire  to  do  what  mv  best  friends  believed 
me  incapable  of — has  done  more  for  me  than  any  and  all 
other  influences  which  have  been  brought  to  bear  upon  my 
character.  Up  to  the  age  of  threescore,  it  was  enough  for 
any  man  I  respected,  to  show  that  he  did  not  believe  me 
quite  equal  to  any  undertaking,  no  matter  what,  to  set  me  all 
agog,  till  I  had  succeeded  in  disappointing,  to  my  advantage, 
even  those  of  my  friends  \\ho  had  the  highest  opinion  of  me. 
The  truth  is,  that  I  never  failed  where  success  depended 
wholly  upon  myself,  and  not  often  where  it  depended  partly 
upon  others. 

After  this,  and  upon  all  questions  arising  suddenly  before 
the  court,  where  I  had  no  time  for  preparation,  I  managed 
to  make  myself  pretty  well  understood,  and  got  something  of 
a  reputation,  as  at  least  a  well-read  lawyer ;  though  it  so 
happened  that  I  never  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  addressing 
a  jury,  upon  any  important  cases,  till  after  I  had  been  abroad. 
Such  were  the  delays,  and  such  the  hindrances,  that  we  might 
as  well  have  been  in  chancery,  most  of  the  time,  as  in  our 
Maryland  courts  of  common  law ;  and  our  heaviest  cases 
were  often  hung  up,  or  passed  by,  year  after  year. 


48  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DEBATING   SOCIETY;    FIRST   SPEECH. 

DEFENCE  OF  QUALIFIED  SLAVERY;  WOMEN'S  RIGHTS;  LAW  ARGUMENT 
OX  MAGNA  CHARTA  IN  LONDON:  DEBATES  IN  JEREMY  BENTHAM's  LI- 
BRAKY;  MILL,  GROTE,  ROEBUCK,  AND  OTHERS;  LONDON  DEBATING 
SOCIETY;  WOMEN'S  RIGHTS. 

DEC.  18,  186G.  —  At  last,  we  have  a  downright  noisy  old- 
fashioned  snow-storm,  beginning  on  Sunday  night,  and  continu 
ing  through  Monday  ;  so  that,  for  the  first  time  this  fall,  the 
out-door  work  of  our  builders  has  had  to  be  suspended.  To 
day,  the  weather  is  clear  and  bright,  and  all  our  new  hives 
are  swarming. 

Oddly  enough,  what  I  have  been  predicting  for  the  last 
three  months,  without  pretending  to  prophesy,  has  been  ful 
filled  to  the  letter.  Having  had  a  somewhat  large  experience 
in  building,  many  years  ago,  I  used  to  foretell  the.  weather, 
and  take  the  whole  risk  upon  myself,  year  after  year.  After 
much  rain,  of  course,  we  might  look  for  dry  weather;  and  so,  if 
it  had  been  very  cold,  we  might  well  hope  for  warm  weather ; 
humidity  and  temperature  being  subject  to  general  laws. 
This  year,  I  ventured  to  assure  my  friends  and  neighbors,  at 
a  time  when  they  were  -most  anxious,  that  we  should  prob 
ably  have  fine  weather  for  building,  up  to  the  middle  of  De 
cember,  with  an  occasional  brief  interruption,  of  course,  but, 
in  general,  the  very  weather  we  wanted.  Upon  this  belief  I 
acted,  and  so  did  others,  who,  not  having  understood  the 
grounds  of  my  calculation,  gave  me  credit  for  a  foresight  I 
never  claimed  ;  and  now,  as  the  weather  changed  so  suddenly, 
and  we  had  our  first  snow-storm  within  the  first  hour  after 
we  had  passed  the  middle  of  December  —  that  is,  at  nightfall 
on  the  sixteenth,  December  having  thirty-one  days  —  I  am 
looked  upon  as  exceedingly  weatherwise,  and  may  yet  be 
consulted  as  an  oracle,  or  at  least  as  a  quarterly  barometer ; 


DEBATING    SOCIETY;    FIRST    SPEECH.  49 

so  natural  is  it  for  odd  coincidences  to  be  mistaken  for  some 
thing  more  mysterious. 

But  to  return.  Just  before  I  went  abroad,  I  was  invited 
to  join  a  debating  society  in  Baltimore.  I  went  once,  and 
onre  only.  The  question  before  the  "  House"  had  arisen  out 
of  the  Missouri  controversy.  Oddlv  enough,  though  most  of 
the  club  were  slaveholders,  by  themselves  or  by  representation, 
the  tide  seemed  to  be  setting  all  one  wav.  and  against  slavery. 
This  appealed  to  the  spirit  of  contradiction  1  have  referred 
to.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  such  a  ureat  question  ^o  by 
default  :  and  sincerely  questioned  the  moral  courage  of  those 
who  maintained  opinions  in  a  debating  club,  which  their  dailv 
walk  and  conversation  gave  the  lie  to  elsewhere.  1  was 
resolutely  and  heartily  opposed  to  slavery.  They  were  not  ; 
and  their  arguments  were  weak  and  frivolous.  Before  I 
knew  it,  I  was  on  my  feet,  and  making  my  first  speech  in 
public.  I  had  always  determined  never  to  take  the  wrong 
side  of  any  question  from  choice,  and  never,  when  obliged  to 
take  it,  as  a  lawyer,  to  say  what  I  did  not  believe  :  though  I 
might,  and  certainly  should,  urge  the  best  arguments  I  could, 
for  others  to  answer. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  though  wholly  unprepared  and 
taken  by  surprise.  I  undertook  to  show,  and  reallv  did  show  — 
to  my  own  satisfaction,  at  least — that  the  definitions  of  sla 
very  were  false  and  preposterous  ;  that  a  qualified  bondage, 
the  bondage,  that  is,  which  prevailed  in  our  country  —  not  the 
bondage  of  fhe  books,  for  that  no  longer  existed  anywhere 
among  civilized  nations  —  might  be — observe!  I  did  not  say 
was,  but  might  be  —  both  lawful  and  just,  according  to  every 
principle  of  law,  national  or  municipal,  notwithstanding  the 
negro  Somerset  case ;  and  all  that  had  been  suggested  by 
Montesquieu  and  Grotius  and  Puffendorf,  and  other  writers 
on  the  law  of  nations,  who  had  been  liberally  quoted.  If 
we  could  bind  an  apprentice  for  seven  years,  why  not  for 
fourteen?  —  why  not  for  life?  If  minors  could  be  held  to  a 
qualified  bondage,  so  that  their  earnings  went  to  their  parents, 
for  twenty-one  years,  under  English  law,  and  our  law  ;  and  by 
the  Roman  law,  and  through  a  large  portion  of  Europe,  for 
twenty-five  years,  why  not  for  fifty  years  ?  —  why  not  for 
life  ?  By  what  principle  are  the  cases  to  be  distinguished  ? 


50  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

If  one  be  wrong  —  necessarily  and  always  wrong,  as  an  out 
rage  upon  man's  nature  —  how  can  the  other  be  right?  Can 
the  number  of  years  make  such  a  difference  ? 

Who  shall  be  the  judge,  when  it  is  asked  how  long  an 
apprentice,  a  child,  or  a  wife  —  and  here  the  great  ques 
tion  of  woman's  rights  and  woman's  wrongs,  with  all  its  tre 
mendous  bearings,  in  all  their  magnitude,  opened  upon  me,  as 
by  a  flash  of  lightning  —  when  it  is  asked,  how  long  they  shall 
be  rendered  by  law  incapable  of  acquiring,  holding,  or  trans 
mitting  property,  except  under  special  conditions,  like  the 
slave  ? 

Take  the  best  and  most  comprehensive  definition  of  slavery, 
as  you  find  it  existing  here,  and  you  will  be  satisfied  that  one- 
half  of  your  whole  white  population  —  that  is.  all  your  females, 
—  are  born  to  slavery,  that  they  live  in  slavery,  and  are 
dying  in  slavery  ;  that  is,  in  qualified  bondage. 

They  are  taxed  without  representation.  They  cannot  hold 
office.  They  are  denied  the  right  of  suffrage.  All  their  earn 
ings  and  savings,  after  marriage,  belong  to  their  husbands,  or 
masters,  who  make  the  law.  They  can  neither  acquire,  hold, 
nor  transmit  property,  otherwise  than  as  their  masters,  the 
lawgivers,  may  prescribe  ;  here,  by  the  intervention  of  trustees ; 
and  there,  by  some  other  roundabout,  costly,  and  trouble 
some  process.  Why,  then,  are  they  not  slaves,  as  much  as. 
the  blacks,  though  not  often  sold  openly  in  the  market  ?  Are 
they  ever  their  own  mistresses  ?  Who  makes  the  laws  for 
them  ?  What  would  men  say,  if  women  had  the  upper  hand, 
and  made  such  laws  for  them  ?  Being  taxed,  wrould  they  be 
satisfied  with  virtual  representation,  such  as  our  fathers  re 
belled  against?  with  the  distinctions  between  dower  and 
courtesy  ?  While  a  husband  takes  all  his  wife's  personal  prop 
erty  on  marriage,  and  all  the  rents  and  profits  of  her  real 
property  for  life —  and  the  wife  only  one-third  of  her  husband's 
personal  property,  and  that,  not  on  marriage,  nor  during  his 
life,  but  only  after  his  death,  and  one-third  only  of  the  rents 
and  profits  of  his  real  estate,  after  his  death  —  what  would 
men  say,  if  the  condition  were  reversed,  and  they  were  dealt 
with  by  law,  as  women  now  are  ?  And  how  would  they  like 
to  be  classed  with  infants,  idiots,  lunatics,  and  persons  beyond 
sea,  as  all  married  women  are  ?  And  how,  if  a  husband  killed 


DEBATING    SOCIETY;    FIRST    SPEECH.  51 

his  wife,  to  have  it  called  petty  treason,  punishable  by  burning 
and  hannini:  (a  law  since  altered,  so  that  a  woman  who  kills 
her  husband,  an  ecclesiastic  his  superior,  or  an  apprentice 
his  master,  is  only  drawn  on  a  hurdle,  and  hanged,  by  Eng 
lish  law),  while  if  a  wife  killed  her  husband,  it  would  be 
on!  >i  murder,  punished  by  hanging  only  ?  And  how  would 
thev  relish  having  such  a  code  of  morals  established  for  women 
as  nu'ii  have  established  for  themselves  —  their  daughters  and 
sisters  and  wives  turned  loose  upon  the  streets,  while  hus 
bands  and  brothers  and  sons  were  held  to  a  strict  account  for 
everv  breach  of  propriety  and  morals  ?  In  a  word,  what 
would  men  say.  if  the  conditions  were  reversed,  and  men 
were  dealt  with,  as  women  are  now? 

If  all  the>e  things  are  just  ami  lawful,  said  I,  while  they 
affect  the  qnaiitied  bondage  of  apprentices,  minors,  and  mar 
ried  women,  why  is  not  the  qualified  bondage  that  prevails 
here,  under  the  name  of  slavery,  capable  of  being  justified  by 
the  principles  of  law  —  of  English  and  American  law,  as 
well  as  by  the  civil,  canon,  ecclesiastical,  and  Roman  law  ? 

Thus  I  argued,  and  with  all  sincerity,  so  far  as  I  went; 
and  the  result,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  flattering  than  other 
wise.  I  had  felt  my  ground.  I  had  broken  the  ice,  I  had 
satisfied  myself  that  my  theory  was  founded  in  common  sense  ; 
that  speechifying  was  childish,  and  talking,  the  most  won- 
derfnl  exhibition  of  human  power. 

But  I  never  tried  my  hand  at  another  speech,  nor  even 
at  another  serious  talk,  standing  up.  until  I  was  more  than 
half-seas  over,  and  found  myself  in  England,  where  I  was 
betrayed  into  another  manifestation  of  what  there  was  in  me, 
under  the  following  circumstances. 

I  was  taken  one  night  to  a  club  of  English  barristers, 
among  whom  were  half  a  dozen  perhaps,  quite  renowned  as 
heart/  speakers  ;  meaning,  as  I  understood,  after  a  while,  not 
dull,  ponderous  speakers,  but  guns  of  a  heavy  calibre  —  lirie- 
of-battle  ships,  not  intended  for  privateering,  or  brilliant  enter 
prise.  With  two  or  three  of  these.  I  had  become  acquainted, 
a<  a  reformer,  and  as  a  disciple  of  Jeremy  Bentham.  though 
at  the  time  we  were  strangers,  notwithstanding  my  familiarity 
with  his  labors,  and  were  likely  to  remain  so  ;  for  nobody  I 
had  then  met  with  could  tell  me  where  he  was  to  be  found, 


52  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

nor  whether  he  was  living  or  dead,  a  Frenchman  or  an  Eng 
lishman  ;  all  his  later  works,  under  the  editorship  of  Dumont, 
having  appeared  in  French.  By  not  a  few,  he  was  regarded 
as  a  myth,  somewhat  resembling  that  old  man  of  the  sea,  who 
fastened  himself  upon  poor  Sinbad  the  sailor,  and  would  have 
been  the  death  of  him  at  last,  if  the  disciple  had  not  come  to 
his  senses,  like  two  or  three  of  Bentham's  great  followers, 
before  it  was  too  late,  and  flung  his  master.  Others,  too, 
while  professing  the  greatest  admiration  for  his  works  on 
jurisprudence,  thought  he  must  have  been  dead  for  a  long 
while,  having  been  killed  off  by  the  wicked  wits  of  the  day, 
Sydney  Smith,  Francis  Jeffrey,  and  Christopher  North. 

Among  these  gentlemen  of  the  robe  were  Mr.  Hill,  since 
knighted  —  the  originator  of  cheap  postage  ;  and,  I  believe,  Mr. 
Joseph  Parkes,  the  celebrated  iSolicitor  in  Chancery,  who 
married  a  daughter  of  Dr.  Priestley,  and  was  one  of  the  great 
Birmingham  radicals,  an  acknowledged  leader  among  the 
reformers,  and  a  great  friend  of  America. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  a  question  arose,  I  know  not 
how,  for  it  seemed  to  be  sprung  upon  us  ;  with  a  view  to  some 
thing  I  did  not  then  quite  understand.  It  related  to  a  provi 
sion  of  Magna  Charta,  for  the  trial  of  offences  by  the  vicinage, 
or  neighborhood ;  and  involved  another  question,  that  of 
"judge-made  law,"  as  Mr.  Bentham  called  it.  I  know  not 
what  possessed  me ;  but,  on  being  appealed  to  by  the  presi 
dent,  I  took  the  floor,  and  made  a  speech,  or  at  least  an  argu 
ment,  before  I  well  knew  what  I  was  doing. 

That  I  was  taken  by  surprise,  I  must  acknowledge ;  that  a 
trap  was  set  for  me,  and  'pleasantly  baited  by  the  friend  who 
took  me  there,  I  had  reason  to  believe,  before  I  slept ;  but, 
after  all,  the  want  of  preparation  was  no  disadvantage  to  me ; 
for  while  others  who  spoke,  might  have  been  prepared,  all 
could  see  that  I  was  not. 

The  question  appeared  to  come  up  incidentally,  somehow, 
while  we  were  talking  about  the  use  of  English  authorities 
in  all  our  American  courts  of  law,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest.  They  knew  that  I  was  from  Baltimore,  and  had  a 
vague  notion  that  the  Baltimore  bar  was  crowded  with  lumi 
naries ;  William  Pinkney,  Luther  Martin,  Roger  Taney, 
Robert  Goodloe  Harper,  William  Wirt,  General  Winder, 


DEBATING    SOCIETY  ;    FIRST    SPEECH.  53 

Revercly  Johnson,  Charles  F.  flayer,  and  half  a  score  of 
inferior  intellectualities,  beinir  in  their  glorv  just  then,  or  fast 
rising  to  their  meridian  strength. 

I  had  bern  provoked  into  saying  that  Westminster  Hall 
continued  legislating  for  the  United  States. 

''Legislating!"  exelaimed  two  or  three  voices. 

"  Yes  :  legislating  ;  for.  hy  a  system  of  interpretation, 
where!  >y  the  jus  dice  re  overpowers  the  plainest  language,  it 
absolutely  repeals,  among  other  things,  one  of  the  plainest 
and  wisest  provisions  of  your  Magna  Charta." 

I  was  challenged  to  the  proof,  and  replied  in  a  brief  speech, 
somewhat  as  follows.  I  give  the  substance  only.  By  the 
great  charter  of  your  English  liberties,  wrung  from  John,  by 
the  Barons  of  Kunnymede, 

"  Who  cawed  at  their  meal 
With  irlnvi's  nt'  stet-1, 
And  drank  the  reel  wine  through  helmets  barred," 

it  was  provided,  that  all  offences  should  be  tried  by  the 
vicinage,  or  neighborhood,  it  being  safer  for  the  innocent,  and 
more  to  be  dreaded  bv  the  guilty,  as  acknowledged  by  all  your 
writers  on  jurisprudence. 

But.  after  a  while.  the  judges  of  Westminster  Hall  took  a 
position  which  repealed  the  provision,  so  far  as  it  related  to 
one  of  the  most  common  and  troublesome  offences,  that  of 
larceny. 

Here  the  heavy  gentlemen  about  me  began  whispering 
together ;  and  my  friend  grew  uneasy,  thinking  I  had  got 
bevond  my  depth.  I  saw  it  in  his  eyes. 

"But  how!  how  was  it  done,  pray?"  asked  one  of  the 
heaviest,  and  the  most  learned  of  the  whole. 

"  By  what  Jeremy  Bentham  calls  judge-made  law  ;  that  is, 
bv  interpretation"  said  I. 

'•  By  interpretation  !  " 

"  Even  so.  It  was  decided  by  your  highest  courts  of  law, 
that,  in  larceny,  possession  was  a  new  taking;  and  that,  there 
fore,  if  the  thing  were  taken  in  the  county  of  A.  and  the 
thief  carried  it  with  him  into  the  county  of  1^.,  C.,  or  D.,  he 
might  be  tried  in  B.,  C.,  or  D..  as  well  as  in  A.,  thereby  re 
pealing  one  of  the  wisest,  best,  and  most  salutarv  of  all  the 
provisions  to  be  found  in  that  great  charter,  so  far  as  larceny 
is  concerned. 


54'  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

liere  looks  were  interchanged  between  two  or  three  of  the 
leaders,  whereby  I  was  encouraged  to  go  a  step  further. 

"  Nor  did  the  mischief  stop  here.  In  your  North  Amer 
ican  possessions,  where  Magna  Charta  was  regarded  as  the 
very  Bible  of  the  law.  this  interpretation  was  accepted  without 
a  word  of  complaint  or  remonstrance,  without  remorse  or 
shame,  though  fundamentally  weakening  what  every  English 
man  regards  as  the  bulwark  of  his  liberties. 

"And  what  next?  So  profoundly  were  we  imbued  with 
reverence  for  your  'judge -made  law,'  so  unquestionable 
was  our  submission,  that  after  we  had  set  up  for  ourselves, 
and  begun  to  adopt  constitutions  and  Bills  of  Right,  for  out 
works  that  were  never  to  be  abandoned,  never  to  be  over 
leaped  nor  passed,  and,  using  the  plainest  language,  adopted 
the  same  wise  provision  —  our  judges,  following  yours,  through 
out  the  land,  gave  the  interpretation  of  Westminster  Hall ; 
and  to  this  hour,  and  in  this  way,  your  judges  continue  to 
legislate  for  us,  and  for  our  twenty  millions  of  people." 

As  I  have  said  before,  though  wholly  unpremeditated,  this 
little  spurt  was  of  no  disadvantage  to  me,  but,  on  the  con 
trary,  a  great  advantage ;  for  it  opened  a  new  path  to  my 
ambition,  and  soon  after  led  to  my  acquaintance  with  Jeremy 
Bentham.  Here  I  had  not  only  broken,  the  ice,  but  had 
learned  to  strike  out  boldly,  without  wandering  into  declama 
tion  or  rhetoric,  and  without  making  a  fool  of  myself,  by  try 
ing  my  ground-tiers  where  they  were  not  wanted.  In  short, 
I  contented  myself  with  making  an  argument,  instead  of  a 
speech. 

Not  long  after  this,  while  going  through  a  course  of 
gymnastics,  at  Volker's  celebrated  establishment,  I  was  invited 
by  one  of  our  best  members,  who  proved  to  be  Jeremy 
Bentham's  private  secretary,  to  meet  with  a  club  of  Utilita 
rians,  who  confederated  once  a  week  at  Queen-Square  Place, 
where  the  great  philosopher  burrowed,  and  where  they  dis 
cussed  with  uncommon  cleverness  and  pertinacity,  and  still 
greater  presumption,  the  most  ponderous  questions  in  govern 
ment,  political  economy,  morals,  metaphysics,  and  theology, 
as  if  they  were  the  Areopagus,  and  were  expected  to  settle 
them  for  ever,  and  without  appeal. 

Among   these   were   Master  John  Mill,   since  known  as 


DEBATING     SOCIETY;    FIKST    SPEECH.  55 

John  Stuart  Mill,  the  great  logician,  political  economist, 
and  metaphysician  :  a  thorough-going  radical,  then  a  boy  of 
eighteen,  or  nineteen  ar  most,  with  a  girlish  face  and  a 
womanly  voice,  like  that  of  John  Randolph;  yet  a  formidable 
antaLr<»ni>t,  with  his  pen.  of  the  "  Edinburgh  Review.*'  after 
the  batteries  of  the  "  \\'estnhnster  "  had  fairly  opened  upon  that 
Gibraltar  of  the  North  :  and  the  editor  of  Mr.  Bentham's 
u  Rationale  of  Judicial  Evidence.*'  in  live  volumes,  royal 
octavo:  —  John  M.  Roebuck,  who  began  to  grow  troublesome 
about  the  time  1  lirst  knew  him.  and  has  been  growing  more 
so.  from  that  dav  to  thi>  —  whether  in  parliament  or  out  — 
and  more  troublesome  to  his  best  friends,  perhaps,  than  to 
his  worst  enemies:  a  man  of  a  churli>h.  discontented  spirit, 
and  of  such  unreasonable,  fantastic  ambition,  that  he  was 
known  to  have  his  eye  on  the  woolsack  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three,  as  if  it  had  been  promised  to  him.  like  the  imperial 
throne  to  Josephine  ;  a  man  of  great  shrewdness,  tenacity 
of  purpose,  and  tierv  edge,  nevertheless  ;  but  of  a  most  un 
comfortable  temper,  so  that  he  was  never  satisfied  with  any 
thing,  not  even  with  the  administration  of  the  universe,  nor 
with  anvbodv  :  a  snarling,  querulous,  and  peevish  antagonist, 
to  whom  paradox  was  the  breath  of  life,  and  contradiction 
of  the  most  obvious  truth,  life  itself:  a  man  who  was  always 
on  the  watch  for  the  halting  of  his  best  friends,  who  was 
"nothing,  if  not  critical."  and  who  read  mankind  as  others 
would,  a  proof-sheet—only  to  iind  the  errors  and  omissions. 
AVe  had  also  the  editor  , of  the  "Globe/'  Walter  Coulson  — 
a  Devon.-hire  Yankee,  who  would  have  passed  muster  for  a 
native,  in  any  part  of  New  England  :  one  of  the  coolest  and 
clearest  headed  men  I  ever  knew,  and  one  of  the  most  saga 
cious  of  journalists,  but  far  from  being  either  luminous,  ori 
ginal,  convincing,  or  satisfactory  to  the  multitude,  for  whom 
he  wrote  :  —  and  then  there  was  Mr.  George  Grote  the  banker, 
who  edited  Mr.  Benthain's  "  Natural  Religion,"  under  the 
name  of  Philip  Beauchamp,  and  who  has  written  so  much 
and  so  well  upon  Greece,  and  the  doings  of  Greece,  and  the 
men  of  Greece,  that  "  Commonwealth  of  kings  :  "  —  and  Rich 
ard  Doane.  the  private  secretary  of  Mr.  Bentham,  who  brought 
forth  Mr.  Benthain's  '•  Not  Paul,  but  Jesus."  under  the  name 
of  Gamaliel  Smith  ;  —  a  Mr.  Ellis  or  two.  the  younger  Austin, 


56  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

and  some  few  others,  who  clubbed  with  us.  from  time  to  time, 
and  threatened  to  be  heard  of  one  day  or  another  ;  but,  having 
failed  to  keep  their  promise,  I  have  forgotten  their  very 
names. 

One  of  our  heaviest  discussions,  and  the  earliest  I  now 
remember,  was  about  the  poor  laws.  It  was  carried  on  by  a 

Mr.  P ,  whose  name  has  entirely  slipped  my  memory,  and 

Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill,  who  contended  for  their  immediate 
repeal  in  a  body,  as  a  source  of  continual,  unmitigated  mis 
chief.  Others  participated,  after  a  feeble  spasmodic  fashion ; 
but  I  held  my  peace,  being  shy  of  committing  myself  among 
strangers,  upon  a  subject  I  was  not  master  of. 

At  the  very  next  meeting,  a  question  arose  —  I  forget  how, 
though  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  the  result  of  a 
conspiracy  —  which  involved  the  very  existence  of  God.  All 
his  attributes  were  seriously  questioned  by  one  or  another  of 
these  fledglings,  and  subjected  to  what  they  called  a  "  search 
ing  analysis.*' 

Here  I  felt  at  home ;  for  I  was  alreadv  a  metaphysician, 
without  knowing  it  :  and.  finding  that  I  was  in  a  club  of  un 
believers —  of  atheists,  I  might  say  —  I  felt  obliged,  by  all 
the"  higher  instincts  of  my  nature,  to  assert  my  convictions. 
Believing  as  I  did.  not  only  in  a  Supreme  Intelligence,  alike 
inlinite  in  wisdom  and  power  and  goodness,  alike  omnipresent 
and  omniscient,  but  in  that  all-embracing  love,  wherewith  He 
holds  the  Universe  to  his  heart,  I  undertook  to  show  that  all 
his  attributes  were  so  clearly  deducible  from  what  we  know 
and  see,  in  the  operation  of  our  own  minds,  and  in  the  phe 
nomena  about  us,  as  to  be  self -evident,  and  might  be  demon 
strated,  without  the  help  of  revelation. 

I  contended  that  the  objections  to  his  benevolence  —  after 
his  wisdom  and  power  were  acknowledged,  on  account  of  the 
evil  and  suffering  we  see  —  amounted  to  little  or  nothing, 
since  he  could,  if  he  would,  make  our  lives  intolerable  to  us, 
by  prolonging  our  days  and  quickening  our  sensibilities,  and 
multiplying  our  temptations  and  our  sorrows;  that  our  great 
est  blessinirs  are  the  commonest — blessings  so  great,  though 
seldom  acknowledged,  that  we  could  not  live  without  them  — 
such  as  the  gift  of  speech,  of  bread,  air,  and  water  —  under 
standing,  memory,  the  social  affections,  <Scc.,  &c. ;  that  all  our 


DEBATING    SOCIETY;    FIRST    SPEECH.  57 

sense.-  —  the  eye.  the  ear.  the  taste,  the  smell,  and  the  touch  — 
instead  of  beiii<_r  sources  of  pleasure,  might  be  made  sources 
of  inconceivable  agony  ;  that  so  unreasonable  are  we.  even 
I  he  best  of  us.  that  we  constant!  v  overlook  these  common 
blessings,  and  are  for  ever  reaching  after  the  uncommon  and 
the  unattainable  :  that  suffering  aud  pain  and  evil  are  the 
exceptions;  and  yet  we  dwell  upon  them,  as  if  we  doted  on 
them,  and  complain  of  them,  as  if  the  reverse  were  time,  and 
God  a  malevolent  being  :  so  that  a  man  in  perfect  health,  a 
husband  and  a  father,  worth  millions,  and  enjoying  the  highest 
consideration  of  his  fellow-men,  together  with  all  the  blessings 
that  earth  can  give,  shall  forget  them  all.  and  fix  his  whole 
attention  upon  a  splinter  in  his  linger,  a  toothache,  or  a  little 
dust  in  his  eye  —  showing  that,  to  such  metaphysicians,  these 
trifles  outweigh  the  universe.  Pope  has  been  quoted. 

I   maintain  that  Alexander   Pope  was   inspired  when   he 
declared 


"All  partial  evil,  universal 
All  discui\l.  harmony  not  understood." 

Though,  in  my  judgment,  another  passage  from  Pope,  which 
has  been  triumphantly  quoted,  was  little  better  than  blas 
phemy,  where  he  represents  God.  the  Sovereign  of  the  uni 
verse  —  our  Father  —  as  whollv  indifferent  to  the  disturbances 
and  perturbations  that  occur,  both  in  the  empire  of  morals, 
and  in  the  material  universe,  by  declaring  that  — 

"  He  views  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall; 
Atoms  and  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  World." 

Paley's  '"Evidences"  were  treated  with  very  little  con 
sideration:  and  even  Butler's  -Analogy"  did  not  seem  to  be 
thought  much  of.  In  the  language  of  their  school,  adopted 
from  their  creat  master.  Bentham,  both  were  '"sentimental" 
And  yet.  if  plainness  of  speech,  clear,  vigorous  logic,  and 
unflinching  boldness  —  among  themselves  —  were  signs  of 
promise,  foretokening  a  proud  future,  most  of  these  young 
men  were  what  might  be  called  hopeful  cases. 

I  had  to  argue  the  question  by  myself.  I  stood  alone  ;  and 
as  I  did  not"  attempt  a  speech,  but  contented  myself  with 
talking.  I  had  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  the  result  ;  although 


58  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  question  was  not  pressed  to  a  vote,  and  I  had  no  antago 
nist  worth  mentioning,  except  young  Mill,  who  contented 
himself  with  half  a  dozen  diluted  syllogisms,  which  did  not 
reach  the  heart  of  the  subject,  though  they  would  have  been 
acknowledged  with  emphasis,  had  they  been  applied  to  the 
corn-laws,  or  to  universal  suffrage.  They  were  too  general, 
in  fact,  for  special  application.  Of  course,  I  do  not  pretend  to 
give  the  language,  but  I  do  the  substance,  of  my  argument, 
and  the  general  drift  of  the  discussion.  This  was  in  1824. 

I  was  now  in  my  thirty-second  year,  and  had  never  been 
guilty  of  a  speech  ;  but  I  had  satisfied  myself  that,  should  my 
notions  upon  the  subject  change,  I  might  find  it  a  v,ery  easy 
matter,  with  a  little  practice,  to  speechify  with  the  best.  And 
I  am  now  in  my  seventy-third  year  (seventy-sixth  at  this 
time),  and  yet,  even  to  this  day,  I  have  never  made  what  I 
call  a  speech.  Not  only  have  I  never  written  and  committed 
any  thing  to  memory,  but  I  have  never  premeditated  a  single 
paragraph  or  sentence,  even  in  my  public  lectures  ;  and  only 
two  or  three  times  have  I  ever  written  what  is  called  an 
oration,  or  address.  I  have  merely  arranged  the  outline  in 
my  head,  fixed  my  attention  upon  the  object  I  had  in  view, 
and  trusted  wholly  to  the  inspiration  of  the  hour,  the  presence 
of  my  learned  brethren,  or  to  that  of  the  unwashed  multitude, 
and  to  the  power  of  adaptation  we  are  all  more  or  less  gifted 
with,  for  the  transaction  of  business  ;  that  which  is  argument 
or  illustration  to  one  class  of  minds,  being  often  unintelligible, 
or  preposterous,  to  another.  But  being  once  written,  like  one 
of  Mr.  Everett's  or  Mr.  Choate's  speeches,  and  then  committed 
to  memory,  no  matter  what  changes  may  take  place  among 
your  auditors  —  they  may  be  many  or  few,  wise  or  simple, 
learned  or  unlearned,  enthusiastic  or  uninflammable  —  on  you 
must  go,  with  what  you  have  written,  hit  or  miss,  and  take 
the  consequences.  And  so,  too,  if  you  have  only  written  your 
speech  to  be  read,  without  learning  it  by  heart,  you  are  obliged 
to  give  it,  word  for  word,  or  risk  a  pitiable  failure,  in  trying 
imw  adaptations,  or  in  supplying  deficiencies,  or  hazarding 
rhanges.  But  if  you  have  good  conversational  powers  —  I 
do  not  say  colloquial  —  or  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of  orating 
from  your  chair,  when  greatly  moved,  in  the  midst  of  your 
friends,  how  easy  to  accommodate  your  language  and  illustra- 


DEBATING    SOCIETY  ;    FIRST    SPEECH.  59 

tious  to  your  audience,  without  losing  sight  of  your  original 
purpose. 

I  had  still  much  to  learn  :  I  was  far  from  being  satisfied 
with  myself:  I  wanted  arranging  power:  but,  being  rooted 
and  grounded  in  a  belief  which  has  lonir  been  a  part  ot 
myself,  I  determined  to  be  led  into  no  more  convulsive  dis- 
plavs.  and  to  make  no  more  demonstrations,  if  I  could  help  it, 
until  they  should  become  necessary  in  my  profession,  if  I 
went  back  to  it  :  or  in  public  life,  should  I  be  launched  headlong 
into  that,  a-  had  been  threatened  more  than  once,  both  at 
Baltimore  and  at  Portland. 

Not  ^another  speech,  therefore,  did  I  make,  or  trv  to  make, 
while  abroad  ;  though,  by  what  follows,  it  may  be  seen  that  I 
had  opportunities  enough — such  opportunities,  too,  as  the 
most  ambitious  would  be  likely  to  desire,  and  would  not  be 
likely  to  forego  or  disregard,  under  any  conceivable  circum 
stances. 

The  great  London  Debating  Society,  made  up  of  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  graduates,  young  and  middle-aged  barristers, 
and  members  of  parliament,  who  needed  practice,  had  just 
been  organized.  I  was  invited  to  join ;  and  our  meetings 
were  held  in  the  celebrated  Freemasons'  Tavern,  one  of  the 
largest  halls  in  London.  We  had  members  enough  to  make 
a  large  house  :  and  our  proceedings  were  conducted  with  all 
the  forms  that  prevailed  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  with 
all  the  decorum  and  solemnity  you  would  wish.  We  had 
even  opposition  and  ministerial  sides. 

I  was  one  of  the  managers  :  and  I  see  by  a  lithograph,  now 
before  me.  that  Mr.  John  S.  Mill,  Mr.  Roebuck,  and  young 
Mr.  Romilly,  son  of  Sir  Samuel,  were  with  me,  in  preparing 
questions  for  debate.  Most  of  these  are  so  characteristic, 
that  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  introducing  them 
here. 

Mr.  Roebuck  proposes  to  resolve  "  That  the  ends  of  penal 
law  can  be  attained  without  the  punishment  of  death." 

Mr.  Xeal.  "  That  the  intellectual  powers  of  the  two  sexes 
are  equal/'  and  '''That  slavery  may  be  justifiable." 

Mr.  Mill,  "That  the  French  Revolution  was  necessary;" 
and  -  That  freedom  of  discussion  on  religious  subjects  should 
not  be  restricted  by  law." 


60  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Mr.  Romilly,  "That  the  residence  of  landlords  would  not 
mitigate  any  one  of  the  evils  existing  in  Ireland." 

Mr.  Earle,  "That  the  principles  of  Phrenology  are  suffi 
ciently  established  to  form  the  basis  of  a  science." 

Here  we  have,  in  these  few  brief  questions,  not  only  a 
preface  to  the  lives  of  these  young  men,  but  a  sort  of  abridged 
autobiography,  glimpses  of  the  future,  and  unconscious  fore- 
tellings  of  themselves  —  eminently  suggestive,  are  they  not? 

Not  satisfied  with  opposing  capital  punishment,  mainly,  I 
dare  say,  because  the  death  of  Fontleroy  the  forger  had  set  a 
few  philanthropists  upon  reconsidering  the  question,  while  the 
great  mass  were  more  determined  than  ever  to  enforce  the 
death  penalty,  our  friend  Roebuck,  having  made  up  his  mind 
to  startle  the  House,  undertook  to  show  that  Catiline  was  no 
traitor,  and  no  enemy  to  his  country,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a 
high-minded,  eloquent,  much-injured  man,  and  patriot ;  and 
Cicero  but  a  vain-glorious  mountebank,  both  treacherous  and 
cowardly,  which  could  not  well  be  denied. 

One  of  our  leading  members  was  a  brother  of  Mr.  John 
Austin,  husband  of  Sarah  Austin.  Both  were  distinguished : 
the  elder,  as  a  writer  on  Jurisprudence,  and  as  a  disciple  of 
Mr.  Bentham  :  and  the  younger  for  his  knowledge  of  Ameri 
can  affairs.  Upon  that  subject,  he  had  long  been  a  leading 
authority,  both  in  the  club  and  out.  One  little  incident  will 
show  something  of  his  qualifications.  On  being  appealed  to 
in  debate,  concerning  the  title  of  President  with  us,  he  said 
it  was  given  to  him  because  he  always  presided  in  our  Senate. 
Whereupon,  I  smiled,  and  shook  my  head:  all  eyes  were 
turned  upon  me.  But  I"  did  not  choose  to  take  the  floor:  I 
merely  signified  my  dissent,  by  shaking  my  head  somewhat 
more  seriously ;  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  gentleman 
would  discover  his  mistake,  or  that  somebody  else  would  set 
him  right. 

"•  If  he  does  not  preside,  why  then  is  he  called  President  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Austin. 

"  For  the  same  reason,  perhaps,  that  the  only  man  who 
does  not  speak  in  your  House  of  Commons  is  called  the 
Speaker,"  said  I. 

This  reply,  though  conclusive  enough,  since  it  stopped  the 
discussion,  did  not  seem  quite  satisfactory  to  my  antagonist 


DEBATING    SOCIETY;    FIRST    SPEECH.  61 

and  his  followers,  who,  by  the  way.  so  lost  their  self-posses 
sion,  that  they  forgot  to  remind  me  of  the  fact  that  the  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons  does  speak  sometimes,  and  may  do 
s.o  at  any  time,  by  calling  a  member  to  the  chair.  But,  after 
all.  why  distinguish  him  as  the  Speaker? 

Ilavinir  now  satisfied  myself  that  it'  it  should  ever  become 
necessary  for  me  to  talk  at  large  —  either  professionally  or 
otherwise,  on  the  platform,  or  otf' — 1  should  mid  no  serious 
dilliculty  in  the  way.  after  a  little  practice.  I  went  no  more  to 
any  of  these  debating  associations,  and  never  opened  my 
mouth  in  public  again,  till  after  my  return  to  my  native 
place,  in  IS'26. 

But  here  my  first  experience  was  in  quite  a  new  field.  It 
so  happened  that  I  had  never  written  a  discourse,  an  address,  or 
a  lecture,  to  be  read  or  delivered  in  public.  I  had  not  even 
tried  my  hand  at  a  Fourth-of-July  oration.  But  soon  after  I 
had  settled  in  my  native  town  — after  settling  some  of  my  ad 
versaries,  who  swore  they  would  not  allow  me  to  stay  here  — 
I  was  waited  upon  by  a  committee  of  citizens,  with  a  request 
that  1  would  favor  them  with  an  address  on  the  subject  of 
Temperance.  I  consented  ;  and.  having  written  out  enough 
to  occupy  me  about  half  an  hour  in  delivery,  went  into  the 
pulpit  of  the  First  Parish,  and  made  my  first  essay  in  that  line. 
It  was  not  committed  to  memory:  it  was  only  read;  but 
with  such  good  emphasis  and  discretion,  that,  although  it  was 
my  "  first  appearance  on  any  stage."  it  was  well  received,  and 
went  far  to  commit  me  for  life  upon  that  portentous  question, 
of  which  I  shall  have  something  to  say  hereafter. 

Next  followed  the  organization  of  a  large  debating  society, 
of  which  I  became  a  member  by  special  invitation,  under  an 
idea  that  my  long  experience  would  be  a  great  help  to  them  ! 
We  met  weekly  over  the  Canal- Bank,  in  Union-Street,  and 
after  awhile  in  the  United-States  District-Court-Room,  and 
City-Hall ;  and  1  took  a  leading  part  in  every  serious  ques 
tion  that  came  up,  and  always  without  premeditation. 

Other  addresses  followed,  which  were  written  for  publica 
tion,  and  of  course  published  ;  though  I  was  often  sorely 
tempted  to  throw  aside  the  pen.  and  trust  wholly  to  the  inspira 
tion  of  the  subject,  and  to  the  magnetism  of  the  audience. 
Whether  I  should  have  had  the  courage,  however,  is  yet  a 


62  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

question  with  me,  had  I  not  been  obliged  to  keep  a  promise, 
after  having  declared  that  I  would  never  write  another  dis 
course,  or  lecture,  while  I  breathed  the  breath  of  life.  Neck 
or  nothing  was  my  motto  then,  as  it  will  be  to  the  end,  where 
I  have  much  at  stake. 

At  last,  on  the  2d  or  3d  of  July.  18 ,  I  was  waylaid  in 

the  street  by  a  couple  of  friends,  who  insisted  on  my  taking 
the  place  of  somebody,  who  had  disappointed  them,  for  the 
coming  Fourth.  I  consented,  of  course ;  and  went  into  the 
pulpit  of  our  largest  church  —  always  my  horror,  by  the  way, 
and.  at  the  best,  only  a  sort  of  sentry-box,  or  wooden  surtout ; 
and  without  having  written  a  word,  nay,  without  having  pre 
meditated  any  thing  more  than  the  general  outline,  gave  an 
address  about  freedom  a-nd  slavery,  the  rights  of  women,  and  the 
wrongs  of  women,  and  there  laid,  as  I  think,  the  foundation  of 
all  that  has  been  built  up  since  in  favor  of  Women's  Eights. 
After  urging  that  our  seven  years'  war  of  Independence  had 
been  against  virtual  representation.  I  asked  how  the  women 
of  our  country,  constituting  one-half  of  our  whole  population, 
were  likelv  to  be  satisfied  with  virtual  representation,  after 
they  understood  the  difference.  I  held  that  the  interests  of 
no  two  persons  that  ever  lived  were  identical,  any  more  than 
their  bodies  or  souls  ;  and  proceeded  to  answer  certain  objec 
tions.  One  was,  that  women  would  not  care  for  the  privilege, 
because  men  do  not  always  vote,  even  where  qualified ;  that 
the  right  of  suffrage  is  often  regarded  as  a  tax,  instead  of  a 
privilege,  not  two-thirds  of  our  qualified  voters,  upon  the 
average,  availing  themselves  of  that  sacred  right,  for  which 
others,  over  sea,  are  ready  to  risk  their  lives,  except  on  extra 
ordinary  occasions.  Granted ;  but  what  then  ?  All  these 
qualified  voters  can  vote,  if  they  will.  Would  it  be  a  good 
argument  for  any  of  our  people,  who  might  be  forbidden  to 
keep  arms,  to  tell  them,  that  very  few  of  those  who -are 
allowed  to  keep  arms  ever  do  keep  or  use  them  ?  True ; 
but  they  may  if  they  will,  would  be  the  answer.  Give  us 
the  right  of  voting,  and  the  right  of  keeping  arms,  and  leave 
us  to  judge  about  the  necessity  or  expediency  of  using  these 
rights.  Were  precedents  called  for?  The  women  of  New 
Jersey  were  allowed  to  vote,  until  long  after  the  beginning  of 
this  century.  Was  the  revolutionary  war  all  a  pretence? 


DEBATING    SOCIETY;    FIRST    SPEECH.  63 

Were  we  serious,  when  we  undertook  to  maintain  —  appeal 
ing  to 'the  Sovereign  of  the  universe  for  help  —  that  taxation 
and  representation  were  coincident  and  reciprocal,  each  being 
the  measure  of  the  other,  like  allegiance  and  protection? 
Was  it  honest,  was  it  fair.  I  asked,  alter  acknowledging  that 
empires  and  kingdoms  had  been  wisely  governed  by  women, 
to  say  that  their  ministers  were  not  women,  but  men:  for 
u'lio  cfiose  tJic  me.'iil  Where  kings  reign,  women  rule,  it  is 
said  —  and  with  great  truth:  for  there,  the  men  choose  for 
themselves,  and  the  beautiful  and  the  fascinating  become  the 
dangerous  and  the  destructive.  Which,  then,  are  the  wiser, 
and  the  safer — the  queens,  who  choose  for  their  ministers 
great  men  :  or  the  kings,  who  choose  for  their  favorites  beauti 
ful  women  !'  Other  arguments  were  urged,  and,  amon<r  them, 
about  all  that  have  since  appeared,  except  this.  Women  do 
not  ask  for  the  privilege  of  voting.  Very  true  ;  but  what 
then?  The  Hindoo  widows  do  not  ask,  or  did  not,  until 
within  a  few  years,  to  be  spared  the  funeral  pyre  ;  Chinese 
women  do  not  ask  the  privilege  of  gadding;  but  is  that  a 
jjood  reason  for  crippling  these,  and  roasting  the  others  alive? 
Our  children,  if  it  were  left  to  them,  would  not  be  likely  to 
ask  for  many  of  their  high-school  privileges  ;  but  is  that  a 
reason  for  denying  what  we  know  they  need,  and  what  they 
will  hereafter  want?  If  we,  who  claim  to  be  wiser,  know 
thus  much,  is  not  our  duty  clear?  Shall  we  withhold  what 
we  know  would  be  for  their  advantage,  because  they  are 
children,  or  women  ignorant  of  their  rights  ? 
But  enough, — 

"  The  die  was  cast  — 

The  golden  link  that  bound 
A  glorious  Future  to  a  glimmering  Past." 

And  there  I  stopped.  From  that  day  to  this  I  have  never 
been  betrayed  into  writing,  or  preparing  so  much  as  a  single 
paragraph,  either  at  the  bar.  at  our  largest  public  meetings,  or 
as  a  lecturer,  in  any  part  of  the  country.  That  I  have  pretty 
well  overcome  the  diffidence  that  used  to  make  me  hesitate 
and  blush  and  stammer  —  when  I  had  nothing  to  say  —  seems 
to  be  generally  acknowledged.  That  I  am  ready  and  fluent 
and  self-possessed,  I  should  not  think  of  denying  ;  but  I  am  so 


64  WANDERING    RE  COLLECTINGS. 

heartily  sick  of  speechifying,  that  I  seldom  consent  to  say 
more  than  seems  absolutely  indispensable,  on  paper  or  off, 
and  then  only  when  I  am  sorely  pressed  for  a  speech,  or  a 
newspaper  article,  and  cannot  escape. 

Thus  much  for  the  encouragement  of  others,  who  disbelieve 
in  themselves,  and  who,  instead  of  learning  to  swim  on  a 
table,  as  I  did,  have  made  up  their  minds  never  to  go  into  the 
water  till  they  have  learned  to  swim. 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  65 


CHAPTER    YL 

QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ? 

CHILDISH     FISTICUFFS:      BOYISH,    DITTO   :     SERIOUS     CONTROVERSIES;     DIS 
OWNED  r.v  TIIK  QUAKEI:>.  AND  WHY:  si'Aiuasc  OVER  SEA:  MY  LAST 

QUARRELS  THERE  AM)  HERE,  I  HOPE. 

DEC.  20,  1807.  —  Our  fine  weather  still  continues.  The 
earth  is  bare  of  snow,  and  to-day  we  are  getting  our  roofs  on 
by  the  score.  Most  of  us  are  now  safe,  though  some  of  our 
best  walls  are  out  of  plumb,  since  the  last  thaw.  To  business 
therefore. 

I  do  not  believe  that  my  disposition  is  bad  ;  or  that  I  am 
either  quarrelsome,  vindictive,  or  unforgiving.  Indeed,  I 
know  better;  for,  notwithstanding  my  reputation.  I  never 
began  a  quarrel,  so  far  as  I  know  and  believe,  in  all  my  life. 
I  never  went  to  bed.  since  I  was  a  boy,  with  a  feel i HIT  of  bit 
terness  toward  a  human  being  :  and  I  never  saw  the  time 
when  1  would  not  have  instantly  forgiven  the  worst  enemy  I 
had,  the  moment  he  seemed  sorrv.  And  yet  1  have  always 
been  in  hot  water,  and  have  alwavs  had.  until  within  the  last 
few  years,  half  a  dozen  serious  quarrels  upon  my  hands,  on  ac 
count  of  other  people,  whom  I  have  supposed  to  be  misunder 
stood,  or  misrepresented,  slandered,  wronged,  or  cheated.  On 
my  own  account,  personally,  I  have  not  had' a  regular  toss-up 
with  anybody  for  rnanva  loni^  year;  so  that  some  of  my  best 
friends  have  thought.  I  fear,  that  I  was  spoiling  for  a  fight, 
and  have  even  ventured  so  far  as  to  tell  me  so,  thereby  proving 
themselves  mistaken  in  my  character. 

How  is  this  to  be  explained?  I  think  I  know.  In  the 
iir>t  place.  I  was  born  a  coward  —  not  to  be  mealy-mouthed  — 
a  downright  coward.  In  the  next,  when  badgered  and  bullied 
and  beset,  beyond  human  patience,  in  my  early  boyhood,  I 
felt  sure  that,  when  I  overlooked  or  forgave  the  offender,  it 
was  from  fear,  and  not  from  love  —  the  fear  that  something 


66  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

would  happen  to  astonish  me,  whatever  might  be  the  size  or 
age  of  my  antagonist,  if  I  let  fiy.  In  short,  I  was  afraid  of 
myself;  and  how  could  I  be  magnanimous,  or  forgiving?  And 
yet  I  was  forgiving,  as  I  have  said  before;  never  in  my  life 
going  to  sleep  on  a  grudge,  so  far  as  I  now  remember. 

Having  been  born  and  bred  a  Quaker,  and  all  my  relations 
on  both  sides  of  the  house  being  of  that  faith,  and  having 
;  their  birthright  in  the  society,  I  was  quite  sure  of  being 
trounced,  right  or  wrong- — if  not  by  my  dear  mother,  who 
was  a  great  disciplinarian,  till  I  got  large  enough  to  be 
somewhat  unmanageable,  at  least  by  some  proxy,  among  the 
Friends  ;  most  of  whom  were  sufficiently  orthodox  to  set 
them  apart  from  all  other  religious  denominations,  though 
many  of  the  younger  people  gave  up  thee  and  thoit,  wore 
buttons  behind,  with  notches,  instead  of  lappels,  in  front,  and 
turned-down  collars  on  their  single-breasted  coats. 

I  was  no  sooner  admitted  into  the  town-school,  after  being 
pretty  well  grounded  in  reading,  spelling,  writing,  and  arith 
metic,  by  my  dear  mother,  who  had  quite  a  reputation  for 
these  branches,  up  to  the  very  last  of  her  long  and  useful 
life,  than  all  the  big  boys  began  to  hector  and  buffet  me ; 
while  the  lesser  fry  contented  themselves  with  running 
after  me  in  the  street,  or  hiding  behind  fences  and  wood 
piles,  and  singing  out,  "  Quaker  Neal !  Quaker  Neal !  "  as  I 
went  by. 

This  I  bore,  till  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Having  well 
weighed  the  consequences,  and  calculated  the  chances  —  like 
Frederick  the  Great,  after  running  away  from  his  first  battle; 
or  Wellington,  after  he  had  shown  a  white  feather  in  the  East 
—  I  made  up  my  mind,  that,  in  most  cases,  it  is  safer  to  fight 
than  to  run  ;  and  I  resolved  one  day,  or  one  night  rather,  after 
a  little  affair  I  had.  which,  mortified  me  beyond  expression,  to 
be  badgered  and  bullied  no  longer,  by  any  boy  of  my  size 
or  age.  And  I  kept  my  resolution,  till  I  was  no  longer  a 
boy  ;  after  which,  I  took  my  stand  with  men,  and  may  now 
venture  to  say,  notwithstanding  my  original  nature,  that  I 
have  kept  the  field  against  all  comers,  from  that  day  to  this. 

The  change  of  character  which  followed,  and  which 
amounted  to  a  transfiguration,  occurred  when  I  was  not  far 
from  eight  years  of  age.  A  smaller  boy,  though,  as  I  have 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  67 

lately  ascertained,  somewhat  older,  met  me  at  the  corner  of 
Federal  and  Pearl  Streets,  near  the  town-pump.  I  had  no 
acquaintance  with  him  :  I  do  not  know  that  1  had  ever  seen 
him  before.  Without  a  word  of  warning"  or  explanation,  the 
little  wretch  irave  me  a  smart  blow  on  the  mouth.  At  an 
open  window  sat  a  large,  pompous,  red-faced  man.  the  collector 
of  our  port,  Mr.  Fosdick.  who  appeared  to  enjoy  the  affair 
prodigiously,  and  when  1  appealed  to  him.  as  to  one  of  the 
fathers  and  magnates —  I.  a  poor,  little,  innocent,  Quaker-boy 
—  he  onlv  laughed  in  mv  face,  and  asked  me  if  I  was  not 
ashamed  of  mvself,  to  let  such  a  little  fellow  strike  me.  with 
out  returning  it.  For  a  moment,  I  was  utterly  confounded. 
AVhere  I  had  looked  for  sympathy,  encouragement,  and  ap 
proval.  I  met  with  ridicule  and  scorn.  AVhat  was  J  to  think 
of  the  serious  admonitions  I  had  been  so  long  familiar  with, 
at  home  and  abroad,  about  doing  as  I  would  be  done  by,  and 
returning  evil  for  good? 

That  settled  the  question  with  me  for  life.  Preaching,  I 
saw  clearly,  was,  not  practice.  I  could  have  cried  for  shame 
and  vexation,  and  believe  I  did  cry.  though  not  until  the  boy 
had  none  about  his  business;  but.  before  I  slept,  my  mind  was 
made  up  to  bear  these  outrages  no  longer,  and  to  take  my 
own  part  airain.-t  all  the  world.  Quaker  or  no  Quaker.  And 
this  promi.-e.  though  made  to  myself,  and  in  the  darkness 
and  silence  of  midnight,  with  nobody  to  overhear  me.  at  the 
age  of  nine  at  the  most,  has  been  faithfully  kept,  with  two  or 
three  trivial  exceptions,  from  that  day  to  this.  '•  A  fair  field 
and  no  favor"  has  been  my  motto  —  the  legend  upon  my 
shield,  if  not  upon  my  blade  —  for  more  than  sixty-five  years. 
Not  satisfied  with  fighting  my  own  battles,  indeed,  for  most 
of  the  time,  I  have  been  fighting  the  battles  of  other  people, 
of  the  public,  and  of  strangers,  whenever  I  saw  them  wronged; 
often,  I  must  acknowledge,  without  reaping  the  least  possible 
advantage  for  mvself,  and  sometimes  without  much  helping 
those  I  befriended  —  like  Pelby.  the  actor;  Buckingham,  the 
editor  ;  Fairfield,  the  poet ;  General  Bratish,  the  Cagliostro 
of  our  day  :  and  fifty  others  I  might  mention,  if  I  would. 

But  I  had  my  revenge.  Five  or  six  years  after  the  bitter 
humiliation  I  have  complained  of.  which  first  brought  me 
acquainted  with  myself,  and  set  me  thinking  about  self- 


68  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

defence  and  our  Quaker  principles  of  submission.  I  happened 
to  be  passing  up  Fish-Street,  now  Exchange-Street,  Portland, 
when  I  saw  a  crowd  gathering,  and  people  rushing  toward  it 
from  every  quarter ;  and  then  I  heard  the  voices  of  men  evi 
dently  engaged  in  angry  discussion.  After  a  few  minutes, 
the  crowd  withdrew  ;  and  two  large,  tall,  dignified-looking 
gentlemen  —  I  call  them  gentlemen,  because  they  wore  small 
clothes  and  hair-powder  —  emerged  from  their  midst,  brandish 
ing  shillelahs,  and  threatening  eacli  other,  from  opposite  sides 
of  the  street,  and  in  the  most  violent  and  opprobrious  lan 
guage,  with  a  tremendous  beating :  one,  Collector  Fosdick  — 
the  red-faced,  pompous  gentleman,  who  had  so  mortified  me 
not  long  before  —  threatening  to  break  every  bone  in  the 
other's  body ;  while  Eben  Mayo,  the  other,  set  him  at  de 
fiance  in  language  quite  as  unbecoming,  for  a  man  of  peace. 
But  didn't  I  enjoy  it!  Here  were  two  of  the  fathers  —  line- 
of-battle  ships,  three  deckers,  with  lighted  matches,  and  guns 
double-shotted  —  running  away  from  each  other,  and  threaten 
ing  to  play  the  very  mischief  with  whatever  should  come 
athwart  their  hawsers.  Pshaw  !  I  have  seen  just  such  an 
exhibition  of  boastful  cowardice,  and  noisy  threatening,  at 
Baltimore,  between  two  negroes  of  huge  proportions,  after  a 
brief,  bloodless  encounter.  Separating  by  mutual  consent, 
and  taking  different  ways,  they  went  off,  shaking  their  heads 
till  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  saying,  '•  Lemme  cotch  you, 
dat's  all,  nigger  !  goody  gorry  mighdee  —  lemme  cotch  you!" 
And  now  let  us  return.  As  might  have  been  expected,  it 
was  not  long  before  I  had  an  opportunity  of  showing  —  to 
myself,  at  least,  if  to  nobody  else  —  whether  rny  resolution 
would  keep,  or  was  worth  keeping.  In  the  same  house  with 
my  poor  mother  lived  a  family  named  Lee.  One  of  the  boys, 
about  a  year  older  than  myself,  was  the  terror  of  the  whole 
neighborhood  —  smart  as  a  steel  trap,  and  quick  as  lightning. 
We  were  both  in  the  daily  habit  of  going  for  water  to  the 
town-pump,  lately  standing  on  the  corner  of  Federal  and 
Franklin  Streets  ;  and  it  was  very  seldom  we  met  there  with 
out  a  serious  altercation  —  Lee  trying  to  push  me  away,  if  I 
was  beforehand  with  him,  or  to  delay  me,  if  I  seemed  to  be 
in  a  hurry.  I  had  always  yielded,  when  it  came  to  the  pinch, 
and  must  acknowledge  that  I  was  afraid  of  him. 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  69 

But.  as  there  are  said  to  be  limits  to  human  patience,  I 
determined,  after  thinking  the  whole  matter  over  once  more, 
to  yield  no  longer,  come  what  might.  The  consequence  of 
which  was.  that,  the  next  time  he  tried  to  drive  me  away,  I 
stood  mv  ground,  to  his  unspeakable  amazement  :  and  though, 
alter  a  short,  angry,  rough-and-tumble  affray.  I  came  off  only 
second  best.  I  saw  that  he  hadn't  much  to  bra^  of;  and 
though,  from  that  time  forward,  month  after  month,  onr  alter 
cation  was  frequently  renewed,  he  seemed  to  be  lighting  shy, 
until,  at  last,  he  gave  up  hectoring  me,  and  we  became  fast 
friends  for  lite,  with  one  single  exception,  which  occurred 
after  I  was  eighteen,  when  we  fought  our  last  battle.  As 
Peter  the  Great  learned  of  Charles  XII..  through  a  succes 
sion  of  disasters,  how  to  conquer,  so  had  I  learned  of  this 
tyrannical,  though  clever  boy.  how  to  withstand  encroach 
ment.  Both  of  us  happened  to  be  out  of  business,  and  our 
masters  had  failed.  I  had  a  new  coat  of  the  latest,  London 
fashion,  which  had  been  made  for  a  neighbor,  but  did  not  fit. 
One  summer  afternoon,  while  we  were  idling  away  an  hour 
on  the  wooden  benches  that  stood  in  front  of  old  Captain 
Smith's  shop,  on  Fore-Street,  fronting  Union -Wharf,  Lee 
amused  himself,  and  two  or  three  of  the  bystanders,  by  pluck 
ing  at  my  coat-tail,  whenever  1  started  to  go.  until  at  lust  he 
tore  it.  I  remonstrated  :  he  persisted  and  threatened,  until  I 
promised  to  strike  him.  if  he  laid  his  linger  on  me  again. 
The  old  spirit  revived,  and  began  to  look  out  of  his  eyes,  and, 
after  a  few  minutes,  he  took  another  pull ;  and  I  struck  him  in 
the  face.  He  did  not  return  the  blow  at  the  time  ;  but, 
watching  his  opportunity,  after  a  lew  minutes,  gave  me  two 
little  dabs  right  and  left,  on  account,  when  I  was  entirely 
off  my  guard  ;  and  then  added,  that,  if  I  would  step  down  be 
hind  the  brick  store  at  the  head  of  Union  Wharf,  lie  would 
give  me  a  thrashing.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  turn  it  off  with 
a  joke,  and  say,  "  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,  if  he  would 
give  me  two  ; ''  but  remembering  the  promise  made  to  mvself, 
and  kept  without  flinching  for  about  six  years.  I  accepted  the. 
challenge.  Down  we  went,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  boys  and 
two  or  three  of  our  companions,  who  had  been  treated  by  us 
with  bottled  cider  and  Boston  crackers  more  than  once  ;  and 
who,  for  that  reason,  perhaps,  were  willing  to  see  the  last 


70  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  both.  But  instead  of  going  to  work  at  once,  as  lie  had 
threatened  with  his  dark,  handsome  eyes,  if  not  by  speech, 
when  I  planted  myself — -poised  on  my  own  magnanimity," 
as  Dexter  said,  in  his  plea  for  Selfridge  —  Lee  suggested  our 
throwing  the  blackguards  off  the  scent,  and  adjourning  to 
Back -Fields,  behind  the  old  First -Parish  meeting-house. 
"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I ;  and  away  we  went,  fetching  up 
at  last,  without  a  single  follower,  in  a  clay  pit. 

We  lost  no  time,  I  assure  you.  Our  coats  were  off,  our 
shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  our  castors  landed  wherever  the  wind 
might  happen  to  take  them  ;  and  at  it  we  went.  After  a 
round  or  two,  my  friend  got  a  black  eye  ;  and,  soon  after,  my 
nose  began  bleeding,  so  that  I  had  to  go  down  to  a  puddle  of 
dirty  water  and  wash  my  face.  Then  he  slipped,  and  fell  flat 
upon  his  back  ;  and  when  I  followed  him  up,  with  no  inten 
tion,  I  protest,  of  touching  him,  till  he  should  be  up,  and 
ready  for  me,  he  began  kicking  at  me  with  all  his  might, 
much  to  my  surprise,  and  greatly  to  my  satisfaction,  I  must 
acknowledge  ;  for  I  then  saw  that  he  was  afraid  of  me.  At 
last,  having  kicked  himself  out  of  breath,  he  proposed  to 
knock  off;  and  if  I  would  let  him  get  up  —  as  if  I  had  any 
idea  of  hindering  him  I  —  to  call  it  a  draw,  so  good  and  so 
good,  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other.  I  agreed 
to  *he  proposition,  and  we  went  home  together.  On  our  way, 
as  we  were  both  climbing  a  fence  in  the  rear  of  the  parson 
age,  he  said,  "  I  needn't  think  it  was  all  over ;  for,  the  next 
time  he  saw  me  out  in  the  evening,  he  meant  to  have  another 
try  with  me."  I  signified  my  willingness  ;  and  there  the 
matter  ended  —  and  for  ever.  We  were  always  good  friends 
after  that,  up  to  the  day  of  his  death.  So  much  for  my  first 
pitched  battle,  and  so  much  for  the  ultimate  issue.  I  had 
begun  rather  early  to  vindicate  my  manhood ;  and  I  had  per 
severed,  as  will  be  seen  before  I  get  through  this  chapter, 
under  many  discouragements,  until  few  that  knew  me  would 
have  been  willing  to  "  answer  my  waked  wrath." 

No  second  blow,  said  Coeur  de  Lion.  No  second  battle 
with  the  same  foe,  said  the  Lacedemonians.  And  so  I  say. 
If  you  must  have  a  toss-up,  let  it  be  once  for  all,  say  I,  that 
you  may  not  feel  as  if  you  had  left  your  work  unfinished. 
Bear  in  mind,  I  pray  you,  that  these  were  the  notions  of 


QUAKUKLSOME    OH    NOT?  71 

my  boyhood  —  notion?  which  k>  <jrew  with  my  growth,  and 
strengthened  with  my  strength.*'  till  a  steadilv  active,  whole 
some  caution  did  that  for  me,  in  the  course  of  time,  which 
fear  did  tor  me  at  first.  It  made  me  unwilling  to  take  offence, 
and  still  more  unwilling  to  give  offence  :  so  that,  notwith 
standing  my  imperious  and  fiery  temper,  and  my  reputed  fear 
lessness  of  consequences.  I  have  managed  for  the  last  five 
and  tbrtv  years,  with  a  few  exceptions,  to  keep  out  of  per 
sonal  controversies,  except  on  paper  —  for  which,  by  the  way, 
1  d  i  most  heartily  and  reverently  thank  (rod,  for  reasons 
which  may  app--:ir  hy  and  by  —  else  I  might  have  had  much 
more  to  answer  for  than  I  have  now. 

l>ut  I  have  not  done  with  my  boyhood.  Soon  after 
breaking  my  first  lance  with  voting  Lee.  at  the  pump,  I  found 
that  I  had  got  myself  into  business  for  life  ;  that,  happen  what 
might,  I  was  bound  to  keep  the  field  against  all  comers,  or 
withdraw  at  once,  and  forever.  His  reputation  stood  so  high 
among  the  bovs,  both  for  fiu'htin<j  and  wrestling,  that  to  have 
contended  with  him.  as  I  had.  and  to  have  come  off,  even 
second  best,  without  a  pair  of  black  eves  and  a  bloodv  nose, 
began  to  work  out  for  me  the  retribution  I  had  provoked,  till 
I  came  to  be  talked  about  as  rather  an  "  ugly  customer."  The 
larger  boys  were  set  upon  me  to  trv  their  mettle  ;  and  boys  of 
about  my  own  size  were  encouraged  to  waylay  me.  with  chips 
on  their  hats,  which  they  dared  me  to  knock  off.  To  all  these 
intimations,  I  gave  no  heed.  My  plan  was  to  keep  clear  of 
all  such  company,  and  to  avoid  giving  offence  :  but  if  attacked 
by  anybody,  however  large,  to  defend  myself  as  best  I  could. 
This  resolution,  too,  I  was  enabled  to  keep,  with  two  or  three 
lamentable  exceptions,  which  I  had  overlooked,  when  I 
said,  at  the  opening  of  the  chapter,  that  I  had  always  given 
blow  for  blow.  Let  nobody  who  has  been  belted  for  the 
championship,  whether  with,  or  without  his  own  consent,  be 
persuaded  that  he  is  not  enlisted  for  life.  Whatever  he  may 
suppose  at  first,  he  will  soon  find  that  there  is  no  discharge  in 
tfiat  war,  if  he  would  not  be  trampled  upon  by  every  whipper- 
snapper  that  stands  in  his  way.  Think  well  therefore,  my 
young  friend,  before  you  take  up  the  glove,  when  it  is  offered, 
and  never  allow  yourself  to  dash  your  gauntlet  in  the  face  of 
another,  if  it  can  be  helped.  k%  If  it  be  possible  —  as  much  as  in 


72  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

you  lies  —  live  peaceably  with  all  men  ; "  that's  the  law  and 
the  gospel. 

The  natural  consequences  I  had  begun  to  fear,  soon  fol 
lowed.  The  reputation  I  had  of  being  somewhat  danger 
ous,  while  it  deterred  a  few.  even  among  the  boldest  and 
sauciest,  from  meddling  with  me,  rather  stimulated  others 
to  put  my  courage  to  the  proof,  at  least  by  proxy.  My 
second  trial  happened  in  this  way,  and  took  me  altogether  by 
surprise. 

One  day,  I  was  passing  through  an  open  lot.  in  the  rear  of 
Ma'am  Berry's  toy-shop,  at  the  corner  of  Federal  and  Temple 
Streets,  when  I  was  set  upon  by  a  boy  named  Titcomb,  a  son 
of  Parson  Titcomb,  who  lived  near.  The  boy  was  about  a 
year  older  than  I,  but  not  so  large ;  a  famous  rough-and- 
tumble  fighter,  and  always  quarrelling  with  somebody,  until 
even  the  bigger  boys  were  shy  of  meddling  with  him. 

I  forget  how  the  affair  originated,  though  I  have  an  idea 
that  he  threatened  to  lick  me  on  the  spot,  asking  no  questions 
for  conscience'  sake.  I  had  my  misgivings,  I  dare  say.  though 
I  could  not  well  stomach  his  overbearing,  insolent  manner. 
And  so,  instead  of  yielding  at  once,  or  running  away,  as  he 
undoubtedly  expected,  I  stood  my  ground ;  or,  as  they  have 
it  now,  showed  fight.  Whereupon,  the  little  wretch  came  at 
me  head-first,  with  his  eyes  shut.  I  was  not  at  all  frightened, 
I  remember,  nor  at  all  hurt ;  though  he  was  covered  with 
blood,  after  a  few  minutes,  my  blows  having  been  delivered, 
by  striking  up,  as  often  as  he  rushed  in  upon  me,  while  none 
of  his  reached  my  face.  I  know  not  how  long  the  affair 
lasted  ;  but  when  it  was  over,  and  he  had  sneaked  away,  and 
I  had  gone  about  my  business,  pluming  myself  not  a  little 
on  the  result,  I  was  overtaken  by  a  big  brother  of  his,  who 
pummelled  me  to  his  heart's  content,  while  I  covered  my  face 
with  my  hands,  and  set  my  teeth,  and  bore  it  handsomely, 
though  without  returning  a  blow,  I  dare  say ;  for  he  carried 
altogether  too  many  guns  for  me,  being  twelve  or  fourteen, 
and  both  cruel  and  cowardly,  while  I  was  not  over  nine. 

But  my  trials  did  not  stop  here ;  and,  that  I  may  not  have 
to  double  on  my  track  hereafter,  I  propose  to  give  all  that  I 
now  remember  which  had  the  effect  of  hardening  my  nature, 
without  regard  to  the  order  of  time,  up  to  the  day  when  I 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT?  73 

took  my  stand  for  the  last  time  —  the  stand  which  I  have 
maintained  for  the  last  fifty-five  or  sixty  years,  or  thereabouts, 
against  all  the  world.  But  I  hope  not  to  be  misunderstood. 
I  am  not,  or  rather  I  do  not  intend  to  be,  boastful,  nor  to 
encourage  a  quarrelsome  disposition.  The  hardest  rocks  are 
gold-bearing  :  but  they  need  to  be  crushed,  or  tapped,  to  let 
the  sunshine  out.  And  so  with  me.  The  trials  and  mortifi 
cations  that  do  not  soften  the  heart,  always  harden  it,  like 
lire.  Many  are  the  changes  I  have  undergone  ;  but  few  have 
been  so  radical,  or  so  enduring,  as  the  first,  which  made  me 
obstinate  and  fierce,  when  assailed,  or  the  second,  which  led 
me  to  count  the  cost  before  I  entered  into  a  personal  contro 
versy,  which,  following  out  my  declared  purpose  —  declared,  I 
mean,  to  myself — would  oblige  me  to  persevere  to  the  end, 
whatever  might  be  the  inconveniences.  That  I  came  to  be 
cautious  and  forbearing  at  last,  where  I  had  once  been  head 
strong  and  rash,  grew  out  of  my  experience,  before  I  had 
reached  manhood.  My  character  being  established  —  my 
strength  and  quickness  having  been  proved,  to  my  own  satis 
faction  —  I  no  longnr  distrusted  myself,  and  could  afford  to 
overlook  what  would  have  exasperated  me  to  madness,  before 
I  had  learned  to  respect  myself. 

The  following  are  the  incidents  referred  to,  as  exceptions, 
and  all  that  I  now  remember  worth  mentioning,  from  the  day 
of  my  first  battle  with  Lee.  One  day.  a  big  lubberly  boy, 
who,  according  to  my  present  recollection,  must  have  been 
almost  a  man.  came  up  behind  me  when  I  was  gathering  chips 
on  the  wharf,  in  front  of  a  pump-maker's  shop,  where  he 
worked  as  an  apprentice,  and  gave  me  a  blow  on  the  back 
of  my  neck,  which  at  the  time  appeared  heavy  enough  to 
fell  an  ox,  and  might  have  dislocated  the  vertebne.  And  for 
what  ?  I  never  knew,  and  to  this  hour  have  no  idea  what  had 
enraged  the  brute ;  although  I  am  sincerely  thankful  that  I 
never  knew  his  name,  or  I  might  have  harbored  a  little  grudge 
against  him,  as  I  did  against  an  old  school-master  of  mine, 
who  thrashed  me  severely,  when  he  knew  I  had  a  written 
excuse  for  absence,  and  then  boasted  of  it  before  all  the 
boarders  —  a  grudge,  however,  that  did  not  keep  me  awake 
nights,  nor  taste  bitter  in  my  throat,  until  I  was  big  enough 
to  avenge  myself,  when  I  forgave  him  on  account  of  his  gray 


74  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

hairs,  with  a  word  of  admonition,  which  he  never  forgot  to 
his  dying  day,  I  am  quite  sure  ;  because  he  sent  for  me  just 
before  his  death,  on  hearing  that  I  had  become  a  changed 
man,  and  proposed,  in  all  seriousness,  that  I  should  make  him 
a  compensation  for  the  suffering  I  had  caused  him  by  telling 
the  story  in  "  Errata,  or  Will  Adams." 

Next  in  order  came  the  following  incident.  Among  the 
larger  boys,  by  no  means  remarkable  for  courage  or  bad 
temper,  was  one  by  the  name  of  Bryant  —  still  living,  I  see, 
for  I  met  him  a  month  or  two  ago  —  whom  I  believe  in  my 
heart  I  used  to  hector  and  bully,  as  others  had  me.  At  last, 
however,  being  "  much  enforced  "  by  his  companions,  partly 
upon  the  ground  that  he  was  afraid  of  me,  and  partly  upon 
that  of  my  having  a  reputation  for  pluck,  which  I  did  not 
deserve,  he  was  shamed  into  fetching  me  a  slap  in  the  face, 
which  so  took  me  by  surprise,  that  I  did  not  think  of  return 
ing  it  till  it  was  too  late,  alleging  to  myself,  as  an  excuse  for 
showing  the  white  feather,  after  the  solemn  resolution  I 
have  mentioned,  that  I  was  alone,  and  he  with  two  or  three 
companions. 

After  this,  and  long  after  I  had  redeemed  myself  in  the 
opinion  of  my  school-fellows,  another  lad.  both  larger  and 
older  than  I  was  —  Luther  Jewett,  our  collector  not  many 
years  ago  —  was  persuaded  to  follow  me  up  the  passage-way 
leading  to  my  mother's  in  Fish  Street,  when  it  was  already 
dark,  followed  by  a  troop  of  young  reprobates,  and  there  give 
me  a  blow  in  the  back,  which,  alas !  I  did  not  return,  being,  I 
dare  say,  glad  to  get  off  so.  "  The  villain  came  behind  me, 
but  I  slew  him,"  says  young  Norval ;  and,  at  the  time,  such 
was  my  rage,  to  say  nothing  of  the  mortification  I  endured, 
that  I  should  have  been  heartily  glad  to  say  the  same  thing 
of  my  old  friend  Jewett,  with  whom,  by  the  way,  I  came 
near  having  a  set-to  in  the  street,  soon  after  my  return  from 
abroad,  because,  forsooth,  I  had  "  taken  up  "  for  a  sailor,  who 
had  been  abused  on  board  some  vessel  which  a  friend  of 
Jewett  had  some  interest  in.  But,  on  the  whole,  as  I  had 
ventured  to  put  myself  in  his  way,  after  he  had  threatened 
to  "  wallop  "  me,  he  thought  it  the  safer  and  the  wiser  course, 
to  overlook  the  offence ;  and  so  did  I. 

And  here  ended  my  first  course.     From  that  day  to  this, 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  75 

I  have  been  faithful  to  the  understanding  I  had  with  myself; 
never  giving  an  offence,  or,  rather,  never  giving  the  first 
offence,  though  I  have  always  given  the  first  blow  :  always 
offering  the  best  apology  I  could,  if  I  had  hurt  or  offended 
another,  unintentionally  :  and  always  resenting  upon  the  spot, 
and  instantaneously,  whatever  seemed  to  be  intended  for  an 
affront,  until  within  the  last  few  years  ;  and,  if  we  were  obliged 
to  try  conclusiqns  in  a  serious  way.  always  defending  myself, 
by  giving  the  tirst  blow. 

My  other  experiences  were  sufficiently  amusing,  and  some 
were  what  my  legal  brethren,  and  perhaps  my  medical  friends, 
would  call  cumulative  :  each  being  a  little  harder  to  bear  than 
that  which  preceded  it. 

One  evening —  and  this  I  regard  as  my  first  pitched  battle, 
for  I  had  to  do  with  a  young  sailor  in  tarred  clothes  (not  so 
bad) — one  evening.  I  was  called  out  by  some  boys,  who  an 
nounced  that  the  Lower-Enders  were  coming  up  in  a  body  to 
thrash  the  Middle-Enders,  as  we  were  called.  They  wanted 
a  champion.  1  was  now  behind  a  counter,  well  dressed,  and 
tall  of  my  age.  with  quite  a  reputation  among  the  school-boys 
and  counter-jumpers  for  courage  and  pluck  ;  having  only  a 
few  davs  before  accepted  a  challenge  from  Bill  Gibbs,  the 
greatest  bully  among  us.  when  he  dared  me  to  come  on  board 
a  vessel,  one  sabbath-day,  which  he  had  undertaken  to  hold 
against  all  comers.  Whereupon,  I  jumped  aboard  at  once,  and 
waited  the  issue  ;  having  a  crowd  of  spectators  on  the  wharf 
to  see  fair  play.  But  he  failed  to  redeem  his  pledge  ;  and, 
when  the  boys  began  crowing  over  him.  I  verily  thought  he 
would  jump  overboard, to  conceal  his  mortification.  He  was 
the  eldest  of  a  large  family,  all  given  to  fisticuffs ;  and 
his  father  kept  the  county-jail,  for  amusement. 

Though  far  from  desiring  such  a  distinction,  and  bv  no 
means  qualified  for  the  championship.  I  did  not  refuse  ;  but 
went  with  them  to  the  head  of  Exchange -Street,  then  called 
Fish -Street,  where  we  found  the  rival  faction,  headed  by  a 
sailor-boy  named  AViley.  at  least  two  years  my  elder,  accord 
ing  to  my  present  recollection  :  somewhat  heavier,  and 
accustomed  all  his  life  to  being  knocked  about,  both  at  sea 
and  ashore. 

After  a  brief,  though  clamorous  parley,  it  was  agreed  that 


76  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  two  parties,  instead  of  going  into  the  battle  head-first, 
every  boy  for  himself,  should  fight  by  proxy ;  we  to  do  the 
hammering,  and  they  the  hurrahing.  Of  course,  having  gone 
so  far,  I  could  not  say  no.  My  reputation  was  at  stake  — 
my  self-respect  indeed.  Fools  that  we  are  !  I  had  never 
seen  Wiley  before,  though  I  had  been  told  of  his  doings. 
Nor  am  I  sure  that  he  knew  me,  otherwise  than  by  the  repu 
tation  I  had  among  the  boys.  We  were  both  natural  fighters, 
game-cocks  without  feathers ;  but  wholly  ignorant  of  boxing, 
or,  as  it  is  called  now,  "  the  manly  art  of  self-defence,"  under 
color  of  which  the  well-trained  pugilist  sets  a  fellow  spin 
ning,  with  a  slap  in  the  mouth  ;  or  drops  him,  with  a  blow 
under  the  ear.  as  dead  as  a  herring. 

Not  a  moment  was  lost.  There  was  no  palavering,  no 
backing  and  filling.  We  did  not  even  off  coats,  and  roll  up 
our  sleeves :  nobody  thought  of  peeling  in  that  day  ;  and  I 
had  on,  I  well  remember,  that  London-made  coat  of  blue 
broadcloth,  with  gilt  buttons,  which  had  been  made  for  a 
young  merchant  for  whom  I  had  been  writing,  and  who  gave 
it  to  me  because  it  did  not  fit  him,  though  it  fitted  me  to  a 
charm,  after  a  few  alterations. 

And  so  to  work  we  went,  hammer  and  tongs  ;  and,  before 
five  minutes  were  over,  I  had  a  lift  under  the  right  ear,  which 
I  did  not  get  entirely  over  for  two  months,  while  he,  poor 
fellow,  was  bleeding  like  a  pig,  and  actually  crying  with 
shame  and  vexation.  At  last,  he  called  for  a  pole  :  he  wouldn't 
fight,  as  we  had  begun,  rough  and  tumble,  though  neither  of 
us  had  gone  down,  and  there  was  no  pulling  hair,  nor  kicking 
shins  ;  but  a  pole  he  must 'and  would  have,  or  he  should  leave 
it  for  somebody  else  to  polish  me  off.  This  delighted  me,  of 
course  ;  for  it  was  an  acknowledgment,  before  all  the  belligerent 
youth  of  Portland,  that  I  was  too  much  for  him.  I  forget 
whether  a  pole  was  brought ;  although  I  have  some  recollec 
tion  of  seeing  two  boys  of  about  my  age,  who  were  either 
bottle-holders  or  pole-bearers,  jumping  about,  like  two  young 
bears  learning  to  dance  on  hot  bricks,  barefooted.  The  battle 
was  soon  over,  and  I  came  off  with  flying  colors ;  though,  in 
consequence  of  being  remonstrated  with  by  the  late  John 
Fox,  who  happened  along,  just  as  we  had  got  through,  and  I 
was  buttoning  up,  I  began  to  feel  most  heartily  ashamed  of 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  77 

myself;  and  am  to  this  hour,  whenever  I  recall  the  circum 
stances.  For  what  business  had  I,  a  young  gentleman  in  com 
parison  with  all  the  rest,  and  a  Quaker,  to  be  battling  the 
watch  with  a  set  of  graceless  vagabonds,  at  the  head  of  a 
great  thoroughfare,  and  within  sight  of  my  poor  mother's 
windows:'  Bur.  after  all.  it  did  me  good:  for  it  cured  me  of 
championship.  And.  though  I  have  never  seen  Wiley  from 
that  hour  to  ihis.  I  have  always  felt  a  desire  to  thank  him 
for  that  rap  under  the  car.  It  made  me  cautious,  though 
-sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel"  as  ever,  until  I  knew  how  to 
guard  against  similar  visitations. 

Long  before  this,  however,  I  had  found  myself  at  a  Quaker 
boarding-school,  in  Windham,  a  small,  scattered  village,  about 
twelve  miles  from  Portland.  There  I  had  a  furious  encounter 
"with  knives  —  wooden  knives  —  in  which  I  acquitted  myself 
handsomelv  :  and  though  the  boy  was  older  and  larger  and 
tougher  than  I.  yet,  after  a  somewhat  lengthy  struggle,  which 
he  had  he^un.  we  parted  "  so  good  and  so  good  ;  "  and  I  had 
no  further  trouble  with  him.  though  he  was  a  terrible  tyrant 
by  nature,  except  in  relation  to  another  phase  of  mv  character, 
which  I  must  defer  an  account  of,  until  I  come  to  a  chapter 
upon  authorship  and  story-telling,  when  poor  Dave  Purinton 
will  re-appear  upon  the  stage,  in  a  character  entirelv  new. 

This  prepared  me.  in  a  measure,  for  toeing  the  mark,  with 
our  Quaker  boys,  whenever  they  forgot  themselves  —  or  me  — 
and  undertook  to  tease  and  worry  me.  after  a  fashion  peculiar 
to  the  race.  Among  my  school-fellows,  when  I  went  to 
Master  Boyce,  a  Quaker  teacher,  and  to  Master  Moodv,  who 
taught  as  others  did.  without  sectarian  proclivities,  was  Daniel 
Cobb,  a  quiet,  amiable,  and  obliging  boy,  with  whom  I  had 
always  been  upon  the  best  of  terms,  till  he  took  lessons  in 
French,  and  tried  to  make  me  and  the  rest  of  the  school 
believe  that  my  name  in  French  was  Jean — Jean  Ne-al ; 
after  which  mv  liking  began  to  abate,  and  at  last,  on  finding 
that  he  was  far  ahead  of  me  in  penmanship,  a  department  I 
had  been  verv  successful  in,  it  died  out  altogether,  and  we 
came  to  an  open  rupture.  It  was  my  fault,  beyond  all  ques 
tion,  and  grew  out  of  sheer  envy  on  my  part,  although  I  do 
not  now  remember  the  immediate  cause  of  our  quarrel ;  but 
one  day  I  found  myself  at  loggerheads  with  him,  at  the  head 


78  "WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  Exchange  -  Street,  my  old  battle-ground,  though  some 
what  higher  up,  on  a  ledge,  since  levelled  and  built  over  for 
the  custom-house  and  post-office.  Daniel  had  armed  him 
self  with  what  we.  in  this  part  of  the  world,  call  "rocks;" 
which  he  held  in  his  hands,  and  struck  with,  believing,  as  he 
told  me,  after  it  was  all  over,  that  nobody  could  endure  such 
blows.  But  I  did,  nevertheless ;  and  poor  Daniel  had  to 
back  out,  step  by  step,  and  finally  to  give  in,  though  neither 
of  us  had  much  to  complain  of.  Long  after  this,  we  met  in 
Baltimore  —  where  he  had  settled  for  life,  as  he  thought,  and 
as  it  soon  proved ;  for  he  died  there  while  I  was  abroad, 
universally  respected  and  beloved,  a  Quaker  to  the  last  —  and 
we  renewed  our  acquaintance  there,  as  if  it  had  never  been 
otherwise  than  agreeable  to  both. 

But  some  of  the  Quaker  boys  would  not  leave  me  in  peace  ; 
and  after  I  had  gone  into  business  for  myself — behind  the 
counter  —  and  had  begun  to  dress  better  than  my  old  school 
fellows,  and  so  to  qualify  the  cut  of  my  Quaker  garb,  that  I 
fairly  eclipsed  not  a  few  of  the  more  advanced  and  more  am 
bitious,  who  sat  with  me  on  the  wooden  benches  at  meeting, 
there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  combination  or  conspiracy,  among 
them,  to  "  cut  my  comb."  The  skirmishing  began  by  Dave 
Purinton  '•  daring  "  me  down  to  the  back  field,  one  day,  as  we 
stood  on  the  step  of  the  old  brick  meeting-house,  corner  of 
Pearl  and  Federal  Streets,  where  my  mother  kept  a  school. 
It  was  "  fifth  day ; "  and  we  were  waiting  for  the  elders  to 
take  their  place,  on  the  '"fore  seat,"  before  we  went  in. 

I  accepted  the  challenge  at  once,  greatly  to  the  surprise  —  I 
might  say,  to  the  amazement  —  of  all  the  other  boys  who  stood 
about  the  door.  But  my  reputation  was  at  stake,  and,  as  I 
then  believed,  my  self-respect ;  and  having  already  been  tried 
with  knives,  and  with  knives  to  the  hilt,  in  Congressional 
phraseology,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  I  felt  sure  of 
myself.  ''After  meeting?"  said  he,  as  we  entered  the  sanc 
tuary.  "  After  meeting,"  I  answered,  '•  I  shall  be  ready  for 
you."  But,  after  meeting,  Dave  was  not  to  be  found.  He 
had  slipped  away,  like  an  adder.  But  he  never  forgave  me  ; 
and,  to  the  other  boys.  I  began  to  loom  up  like  a  portent ;  for, 
instead  of  saying,  "  One's  afeard  and  t'other  darsn't,"  they 
went  about  declaring  that  Dave  Purinton  was  "afeard  o'  me," 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  79 

that  he  had  dared  me  down  to  the  Back -Fields,  and  then 
sneaked  off. 

However,  my  troubles  were  not  ended  :  and  I  soon  had  oc 
casion  to  show  that  I  was  of  a  truth  growing  dangerous.  To 
the  Quakers,  buttons  behind  were  forbidden.  Useless  to  be 
sure,  but  fashionable  nevertheless  —  and  for  that  verv  reason, 
perhaps,  fashionable  —  they  were  prodigiously  coveted  bv  the 
young  broad-briins.  I  had  them  on  a  new  coat  —  I  dare  sav, 
without  my  dear  mother's  knowledge  :  for  she  was  orthodox 
to  the  core,  on  all  such  questions.  One  dav.  at  the  weekly 
meeting.  I  felt  somebody  behind  me  tugging  at  a  button.  I 
turned  round,  in  ihe  awful  stillness  that  prevailed,  only  to  see 
Ben  Hannah' ml.  with  an  open  knife  in  one  hand,  sharp  and 
glittering,  and,  in  the  other,  my  poor  button  just  ready  to  give 
up  the  ghost.  I  told  him  to  stop  that  !  lie  persisted  ;  and  I 
let  fly,  with  such  effect,  that  his  nose  gushed  out  with  blood, 
and.  for  a  minute  or  so,  I  sat  expecting  to  feel  the  knife  in 
my  side  ;  for  he  had  a  terrible  reputation,  and  was  thought  to 
be  both  cruel  and  vindictive,  unrelenting  and  treacherous. 
But  he  was  not  altogether  evil  ;  for  he  suti'ered  me  to  escape, 
though  some  of  the  boys,  and  not  a  few  of  the  young  men,  who 
saw  the  iigure  he  cut.  and  my  paleness,  looked  as  if  they  ex 
pected  the  roof  to  fall  in  upon  us  both.  Nothing  more  came 
of  it,  however  ;  and  1  was  left  in  peace. 

For  many  a  long  year  after  this.  I  had  no  personal  encoun 
ter  worth  mentioning  :  though  1  did  not  entirely  escape,  either 
at  Boston  or  at  Baltimore,  after  it  came  to  be  understood 
that  I  was  an  "ugly  customer."  But,  after  my- failure  in  the 
latter  place,  I  began  to  be  more  sensitive  and  waspish;  and 
so,  one  dav.  being  stopped  by  a  stout  lubberly  Irishman,  as  I 
was.  walking  leisurely  along  through  Market  Street,  on  my 
way  toward  Gadsby's,  we  had  a  rough-and-tumble  toss-up, 
which  set  the  whole  neighborhood  agog.  The  fellow  kept  a 
retail  shop.  He  and  some  of  his  neighbors  had  bought  of  me 
a  quantity  of  cotton-balls  for  cash,  at  a  time  when  cotton-balls 
were  something  better  than  specie.  But.  instead  of  paying 
cash,  these  gentlemen,  having  understood  that  we  were  in 
failing  circumstances  —  Pierpont.  Lord,  and  myself  —  con 
cluded  not  to  pay  at  all.  not  even  in  promises;  whereupon, 
getting  out  of  patience  with  them,  I  left  all  my  demands  with  a 


80  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

lawyer,  directing  him  to  enforce  them  without  delay,  and  to 
"warrant"  all  who  did  not  "pony  up,"  where  the  amount  did 
not  exceed  twenty  dollars. 

This  was  reckoned  a  personal  affront,  if  I  may  believe 
what  was  afterward  told  me.  And  so  the  debtors  came  to 
gether,  and  chose  the  biggest  of  their  number  to  give  me  a 
44  walloping  "  on  the  public  street,  and  at  a  time  when  it  was 
likely  to  be  thronged  with  fashionable  women.  I  knew  noth 
ing  of  the  arrangement,  and  was  wondering,  as  I  turned  the 
corner  of  South  Calvert-Street,  where  I  boarded,  into  Market- 
Street,  what  the  retail  shopkeepers  were  hurrying  to  their 
door  for.  As  I  passed  the  shop  of  this  fellow,  who  was  sitting 
on  a  box,  just  outside,  he  spoke  to  me,  and  I  stopped  to  an 
swer.  "  Ain't  you  a  pretty  feller  ?  "  said  he,  flourishing  both 
fists  at  me,  as  he  spoke.  I  bowed.  "Arrah!"  said  he,  "if 
yer  wouldn't  take  the  law  o'  me,  I'd  give  yer  what  Paddy 
give  the  drum."  "  If  you  want  a  quarrel,"  said  I,  "  you  can 
be  accommodated ;  but  this  is  not  the  place :  the  street  is 
crowded  with  women."  It  was  toward  evening  on  a  beautiful 
summer  day.  "  Oh  !  "  said  my  man,  raising  his  voice,  "  it's 
none  o'  your  barkers,  I  want.  I'm  for  the  bull-dogs,"  again 
flourishing  his  fists  at  me.  "  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  if  you  insist 
upon  it,  here  let  it  be ;  and  I  give  you  my  word,  I  will  not 
take  the  law  of  you." 

But  instead  of  opening  fire,  as  I  expected,  the  great  lubber, 
who  had  jumped  off  the  box,  as  if  to  carry  his  threat  into  ex 
ecution,  hesitated,  faltered,  and  at  last  contented  himself  with 
calling  me  "  a  d — d  puppy." 

Whereupon,  I  levelled  a  blow  at  his  head,  with  a  heavy 
orange-tree  cane  I  happened  to  have  with  me,  which,  had  I 
not  relented  before  it  reached  him,  must  have  brought  him  to 
the  ground,  and  perhaps  finished  the  quarrel,  by  finishing  my 
antagonist.  My  hesitation  saved  him ;  for  he  caught  the  cane 
with  both  hands,  and  fairly  wrenched  it  out  of  my  grasp. 

And  then  we  fell  to,  in  downright  earnest ;  and,  after  in 
terchanging  a  few  blows,  he  seized  me  round  the  waist,  and 
being  a  very  powerful  man,  with  quite  a  reputation  as  a 
rough-and-tumble  fighter,  I  felt  as  if  a  boa-constrictor  had 
me.  It  was  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense  —  a  matter  of  life 
or  death  for  me,  if  not  for  him ;  for  every  thing  I  had  on  earth 


QUARRELSOME    OR    XOT ?  81 

was  at  stake.  The  struggle  was  very  brief.  I  threw  him  ; 
and.  as  he  fell  with  his  back  over  the  curb-stone,  he  drew  me 
down,  so  that  I  had  great  difficulty  in  disen^a^in^  mvself. 
At  last.  I  succeeded  :  and  the  moment  he  was  on  his  feet,  he 
began  flourishing  the  cane  he  had  wrenched  from  me,  and 
daring  me  to  come  on  ;  while  his  wife  kept  screaming  at  us 
both,  from  an  open  window  above.  "  Will  anybody  i^ive  me 
a  cane?''  said  I,  turning  to  the  bystanders,  and  feeling  very 
sure  of  myself,  should  it  come  to  blows  in  that  way.  The 
next  moment,  somebody — I  never  knew  who  —  slipped  a 
small  knotty  stick,  with  a  silver  head,  into  my  hand,  which 
the  owner  never  took  the  trouble  to  come  for.  But  the  ques 
tion  wa.«  settled.  My  antagonist  withdrew,  the  crowd  dis 
persed,  and  I  went  on  my  way  rejoicing,  without  a  scratch  ; 
though  the  brutal  ruilian  had  literally  torn  out  one  breadth 
of  the  frock-coat  I  wore,  with  every  thing  underneath  —  vest 
and  shirt.  He  had  the  clutch  of  a  grizzly  bear.  These  rav 
ages  I  concealed,  bv  buttoning  my  coat  over  on  the  other  side, 
so  that  when  I  reached  Mr.  Gadsby's.  where  I  met  a  party  of 
charming  girls,  nobodv  would  have  suspected  that  I  had  been 
engaged  yard-arm  and  yard-arm,  within  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour,  or  that  I  had  hauled  off  to  repair  damages. 

And  then  followed  the  funniest  part  of  the  whole  affair.  I 
was  called  up  before  the  great  Luther  Martin,  judge  of  the 
criminal  court,  to  answer  for  an  assault  and  battery  on  this 
very  Mr.  Hill,  who  had  been  so  afraid  of  my  taking  the  law 
of  him  !  After  he  had  told  his  story,  and  had  got  as  far  as 
where  he  acknowledged  that  he  had  called  me  "  a  d — d 
puppy,''  he  came  to  a  full  stop. 

'*  Well,"  said  the  judge,  "and  what  then?  What  did  he 
do?" 

"  Pie  knocked  me  down,"  said  Hill. 

"And  what  else  could  you  expect?"  said  the  judge;  and 
then,  because  my  bearing  and  appearance  were  so  much  in  my 
favor,  that  my  example  might  be  dangerous,  he  fined  me  ten 
dollars  and  costs. 

•    Up  to  this  time.  T  had  never  forfeited  my  birthright  with 

the  Friend-.      I   had   gone   to   their  meetings  now   and  then, 

though   not   often,  and  never    on   week-days  ;  and   they  were 

\   unwilling  to  give  me  up.     A  committee  were  chosen  to  labor 


82  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

with  me;  and  after  several  interviews,  on  finding  me  obstinate 
in  my  notions  about  non-resistance,  they  yielded  to  my  re 
quest,  and  consented  to  disown  me. 

"  I  understand,  John,"  said  one  of  these  venerable  men, 
"  that  thee  doesn't  believe  in  God :  I  never  saw  an  atheist, 
and  I  thought  I  should  like  to  know  the  truth  from  thyself." 

"  All  a  mistake,"  said  I,  "  I  am  no  atheist.  I  do  believe  in 
God  the  Father,  and  in  "  — 

"  Ah,  but  not  in  the  Son  :  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  Another  mistake,"  said  I.  "  I  am  no  deist ;  though  I 
cannot  believe  that  He  who  says,  '  My  father  is  greater  than 
I,'  can  be  the  equal  of  the  Father." 

"  Then  thee  believes  him  to  be  only  a  man  :  is  that  it  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  not  I !  I  do  not  pretend  to  settle  his  rank: 
I  only  feel  that  the  very  relationship  of  Father  and  Son  im 
plies  a  difference,  inequality,  and  subordination,  if  nothing 
more." 

"  But  divine  or  human,  he  must  be." 

"  Why  so  ?  The  angels  are  neither  divine  nor  human : 
are  they  ?  " 

And  here  the  controversy  ended  ;  and  as  I  refused  to  ac 
knowledge  the  wrong  they  charged  me  with,  and  persisted  in 
desiring  a  dismissal  from  the  society,  not  more  for  my  own 
sake  than  for  theirs,  they  cut  me  off,  but  with  great  tender 
ness  and  consideration,  assuring  me,  when  it  was  all  over, 
that  they  did  not  despair  of  seeing  me  in  the  right  path,  at 
some  future  day.  How  little  did  I  think  then,  that  I  should 
ever  be  what  I  am  now  —  a  professor  of  the  orthodox  faith ; 
and  full  of  amazement  that  I  should  have  been  spared  so 
long,  and  borne  with  so  patiently,  by  our  heavenly  Father  ! 

Two  or  three  more  cases,  for  illustration  —  while  a  score, 
which  resulted  in  nothing,  are  passed  over  —  and  this  chapter 
will  be  ended. 

Before  I  went  abroad,  I  took  lessons  in  boxing  of  a  fellow 
named  Riley,  a  blacksmith,  who  had  obtained  a  great  reputa 
tion  at  Philadelphia,  in  some  riot,  which  occurred  there,  and 
came  to  Baltimore  as  a  teacher  of  the  "  noble  art  of  self-de 
fence."  Large  and  powerful,  —  he  was,  at  the  best,  a  bungler, 
loose  and  clumsy ;  and  I  learned  little  more  of  him  than  how 
to  take  heavy  blows  without  flinching.  I  was  by  far  the 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  83 

quicker  and  cleaner  hitter,  though  by  no  means  a  match  for 
him.  with  my  little  experience,  on  account  of  his  reach,  and 
weight  of  metal,  and  great  bodily  strength. 

Soon  alter  mv  arrival  in  England.  I  took  lesson?  of  Rich 
mond  the  black,  whose  battle  with  Tom  Crib  had  given  him 
a  prodigious  reputation.  lie  was  a  powerful,  clumsv  hitter, 
but  far  from  being  a  neat  sparrer.  Then  of  Kales,  the  quick 
est  man  in  England  :  and  then  of  Ellard,  a  capital  hand  with 
ilui  gloves,  but  of  no  account  in  the  riujj;.  I  was  now  in  mv 
thirtieth  year,  vigorous,  well  proportioned,  five  feet  eiirht  and 
a  half,  and  weighing  only  ten  stone  and  a  half,  or  147  Ibs. 
Having  sparred  with  many  a  prize-lighter  of  the  day.  and 
interchanged  hard  knocks  with  Richmond,  Ellard.  and  others, 
to  my  entire  satisfaction,  I  withdrew  to  my  chambers,  and, 
while  writing  for  the  magazines,  gave  myself  up  to  gymnas 
tics —  the  small-sword,  sabre,  cut  and  thrust,  horsemanship,  and 
the  cavalrv  exercise  at  Knightsbridge-barracks  ;  after  which 
followed  two  or  three  adventures,  worth  mentioning  perhaps. 

One  evening.  I  wa>  at  the  theatre  with  Chester  Harding 
and  two  or  three  friends,  who  did  not  wear  hats,  to  see  Miss 
Foote  in  Letitia  Hardy,  after  she  had  been  led  astray  by 
Colonel  Berklev.  I  had  been  rather  unwell  for  a  week  or  ten 
days,  with  a  troublesome  cold,  and  a  slow  fever;  and,  not  know 
ing  what  to  do  with  myself,  had  consented  to  join  the  party, 
though  tired  of  the  stage.  Feeling  dry  in  the  mouth,  when 
the  play  was  about  half  through.  I  sent  a  boy  to  get  me  some 
oranges.  He  loitered;  and,  growing  impatient,  and  of  course 
irritable,  I  went  after  him.  On  my  return.  I  found  two 
strangers  in  possession  of  our  seats  ;  my  friend  Harding,  who 
had  been  left  in  charge,  having  yielded  without  remonstrance. 
lie  saw  what  was  brewing.  I  suppose  ;  for  he  took  me  aside 
as  I  was  about  entering  the  box.  and,  pointing  to  the  two 
strangers,  signified  in  a  way  not  to  be  misunderstood,  that 
they  had  better  not  be  meddled  with.  But  I  was  in  no 
humor  for  trifling;  and  so  I  touched  the  nearest  on  the 
shoulder,  and  told  him  tluit  we  had  engaged  the  seats  in  ad 
vance,  and  -that  I  had  left  mine  for  a  few  moments  only. 
But  my  gentleman  persisted,  without  turning  his  head  to  look 
at  me.  Upon  this.  I  gave  him  an  intimation  that  I  had  some- 
thin"-  further  to  say.  He  understood  me,  and  started  to  his 


84  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

feet,  followed  by  his  companion.  "  Will  you  give  up  the 
seats  you  have  taken  ?"  said  I.  He  laughed  in  my  face  — 
being  a  larger  man,  almost  as  large  as  Harding  himself.  The 
next  moment,  I  collared  him.  and  he  was  under  my  feet  in  a 
twinkling;  and  his  companion  so  frightened,  that  all  eyes 
were  upon  him.  Harding  did  not  interfere  ;  and  the  gentle 
men  withdrew  ;  and  we  had  no  further  trouble,  though  not  a 
blow  was  interchanged  between  us,  and  the  affair  was  ended 
so  quickly,  that  there  was  no  time  for  interference  outside  our 
box. 

Not  long  after  this,  a  young  Virginian  arrived,  who  wanted 
to  see  all  that  was  worth  seeing,  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 
Young  Sully,  Robert  M.,  the  painter,  a  nephew  of  Thomas 
Sully,  had  known  this  young  man,  I  believe,  in  Philadelphia; 
and  wanted  to  do  the  honors.  I  had  given  up  mv  drawing- 
room  to  Sully,  and  obtained  a  few  fine  subjects  for  his  pencil ; 
and,  among  others,  Northcote  the  painter,  whose  portrait  by 
him  is  now  —  or  was,  not  long  ago  —  in  the  Philadelphia 
Academy.  After  consulting  with  me,  Sully  undertook  to 
show  his  friends  the  lions ;  and  soon  after  begged  me  to  get 
them  both  into  the  little  Play  market -theatre,  where  Listen 
was  then  playing  Paul  Pry,  night  after  night,  to  crowded 
houses  —  to  houses  so  crowded,  indeed,  that,  unless  we  would 
consent  to  try  the  shilling  gallery,  there  seemed  to  be  no 
chance  for  us,  and  the  young  Virginian  couldn't  wait. 

I  succeeded  in  securing  seats  for  all  three,  just  under  the 
eaves,  on  a  sweltering  close  night,  when,  if  every  thing  had 
gone  on  smoothly,  it  would  have  been  somewhat  difficult  for 
any  reasonable  man  to  keep  his  temper.  When  the  play  was 
about  half  through.  I  heard  a  bustle  at  the  door,  just  beyond 
the  Virginian  ;  and  a  big  burly  fellow  appeared,  with  a  drab 
overcoat  on,  such  as  served  to  distinguish  the  "  Fancy,"  and, 
with  his  castor  tilted  over  one  ear,  trying  to  force  himself  into 
our  seat,  and  swearing  he  ivonld  come  in,  whether  or  no. 
Not  much  liking  the  fellow's  behavior,  I  stepped  forward, 
and  took  my  station  where  he  would  have  to  encounter  me 
first.  He  had  begun  flourishing  his  fists  about,  and  every 
body  had  given  way  to  him,  until  he  saw  me,  planted  before 
him,  and  standing  up  with  my  feet  on  two  benches,  fronting 
the  passage-way.  Whether  he  did  not  much  like  my  attitude 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT  ?  85 

and  bearing,  or  happened  not  to  take  a  fancy  to  the  expres 
sion  of  my  countenance —  for  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  I 
was  deadly  pale  —  I  do  not  know  ;  but  his  long  arms  dropped 
gradually  lower  and  lower,  and  lie  sheered  oil'  out  of  my  way, 
and  took  a  seat  in  front  of  us.  The  people  about  me  hissed 
him  ;  and  so  he  set  his  castor  in  such  a  way  as  to  intercept 
our  view.  I  remonstrated  ;  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  me. 
I  then  reached  over,  and.  touching  him  on  the  shoulder, 
be-fro-ed  him  to  take  off  his  hat.  lie  would  see  me  d — d  first. 
••  Then."  said  I.  "  I  shall  have  to  take  it  oil'  for  you/'  He 
would  like  to  see  me  do  it.  No  sooner  said  than  done  :  I 
reached  over,  and,  snatching  the  hat  from  his  head,  was  just 
on  the  point  of  shying  it  into  the  pit,  when  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  might  "  bring  down  the  house,"  without,  intending  it; 
and  I  forebore.  Upon  this,  my  gentleman  swore  a  monstrous 
oath  ;  and  I  caught  him  by  ihe  collar,  and  being  above  him,  a 
whole  bench  higher,  with  all  the  purchase  I  needed.  I  drew 
him  up  with  one  hand  and  set  him  on  his  feet  by  main  force, 
and  then  planted  myself  right  in  his  wav.  Such  a  shout, 
and  such  a  volume  of  hissing  and  half-smothered  laughter,  fol 
lowed,  that  all  eyes  from  below  were  turned  up  to  the  gallery. 
But,  as  he  made  no  further  demonstrations,  I  turned  round  to 
nive  a  hint  to  my  friends :  and.  when  I  looked  again,  my 
formidable  antagonist  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  lie  had 
slipped  away,  and  was  probably  waiting  for  me  in  the  narrow 
passage  behind.  This  I  did  not  half  like  ;  and  so,  begging 
Sully  to  take  my  watch,  and  both  to  see  fair  play.  I  waited 
the  issue.  But,  lo !  when  I  went  out.  nothing  was  to  be  seen, 
of  the  foolish  blusterer ;  and  I  escaped  with  a  whole  skin, 
greatly  to  my  satisfaction,  I  promise  you. 

And  then  followed  a  transaction,  which  grew  out  of  another 
visit  to  the  theatre,  to  oblige  a  friend.  Kean  was  playing 
Richard.  Webster,  a  Scotch  barrister,  with  whom  I  had  be 
come  acquainted  at  Angelo's  fencing-rooms,  where  we  used  to 
try  our  hands  on  each  other,  with  the  Scotch  broad-sword,  cut 
and  thrust,  and  small  sword,  weapons  he  handled  like  a  mas 
ter,  had  never  seen  the  great  tragedian  in  this  character, 
though  I  had,  more  than  once. 

The  house  was  crowded,  crammed  ;  and.  soon  after  we  had 
taken  possession  of  our  places,  Webster  sitting  with  me  and 


86  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

two  other  friends,  who  were  of  the  party  —  George  Bentham 
the  nephew,  and  Richard  Doane  the  private  secretary,  of  Jer 
emy  Bentham.  taking  seats  in  the  rear  a  little  way  off — at  a 
very  interesting  passage  of  the  play,  I  happened  to  look  down, 
and  saw  a  young  handsome  woman  trying  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  stage  from  her  standing-place  in  the  alley  on  my  left. 
Pitying  her  from  my  soul,  for  I  saw  by  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  that  she  was  no  theatre-goer,  and  that  she  was 
unable  to  see  or  hear,  I  stooped  over,  and  told  her  if  she 
would  step  up  on  the  floor  of  the  seat  I  occupied,  I  would 
make  all  the  room  I  could  for  her.  She  was  very  thankful ; 
and,  after  consultation  with  a  friend  at  her  elbow,  she  con 
sented,  and  took  her  place  by  my  side.  But,  after  a  few 
minutes,  I  found  her  in  danger  of  falling,  and  proposed  put 
ting  my  left  arm  round  her  waist,  and  taking  hold  of  the 
next  seat  with  my  left  hand.  Soon  after  this,  I  heard  some 
growling  on  my  right,  from  a  party  of  roughs,  next  beyond 
Webster,  with  their  doxies;  and  then  I  heard  him  say,  "  You'd 
better  be  quiet,  my  mon,  or  ye  may  find  yoursel'  in  the  wrong 
box.  If  you  want  a  quarrel  though,  you  can  be  accommo 
dated." —  ''I  don't  want  a  quarrel  with  you,  nor  with  your 
puppy  neither,"  said  the  fellow,  glancing  at  me,  as  he  spoke. 
Whereupon,  though  Webster  tried  to  dissuade  me,  and  was 
for  taking  the  business  into  his  own  hands,  I  begged  the 
young  woman  to  let  me  off,  my  left  arm  being  nearly  para 
lyzed  ;  and  then,  drawing  off  my  gloves,  and  taking  a  seat 
beyond  Webster,  I  leaned  over,  and  asked  the  fellow  if  that 
was  meant  for  me.  He  made  some  insolent  reply,  and  I 
struck  him  a  heavy  blow  on  the  mouth,  with  the  back  of  my 
hand  ;  but,  most  unfortunately,  the  woman  at  his  side,  sitting 
between  him  and  me,  thought  proper  to  interfere,  at  a  most 
unseasonable  moment,  by  thrusting  her  head  forward,  and  re 
ceived  my  arm  athwart  her  mouth  ;  and  both  began  bleeding 
profusely.  I  was  horror-struck  ;  and  though  I  apologized  on 
the  spot,  endeavoring  to  soothe  her,  and  telling  her  how  sorry 
I  was,  and  that  she  ought  to  have  interfered  before,  or  not  at 
all,  I  expected  nothing  less  than  a  battle  royal,  there  being 
three  of  them,  and  all  clad  in  fighting  gear,  and  two  of  us, 
with  reinforcements  behind.  But  probably,  as  the  police  did 
not  show  themselves,  and  I  stood  up,  and  there  was  no  row, 


QUARRELSOME    OR    NOT?  87 

the  whole  was  taken  for  a  misunderstanding1,  or  an  accident. 
But  my  man.  who  was  evidently  in  earnest,  leaned  over,  and 
in  a  low  voice,  boding  mischief,  said  he  should  be  ready  for 
me  after  the  play.  I  assented,  and,  after  the  plav  was 
through,  touched  his  arm.  and  signified  that  I  was  entirely  at 
his  service;  and  then,  taking  Webster  with  me.  who  appeared 
to  enjoy  the  prospect  amazingly,  made  my  way  to  the  door, 
expecting  to  be  followed  by  the  insolent  blackguard  and  his 
two  drab-coated  companions.  But  no  :  they  had  other  lish  to 
frv  ;  and  I  saw  no  more  of  them. 

And  here  ended,  with  half  a  dozen  trivial  exceptions,  my 
adventures  in  this  line,  till,  about  three  years  ago.  when,  at 
the  age  of  threescore  and  ten,  I  was  betrayed  into  an  out 
burst  of  temper,  which  ended  with  my  pitching  a  big  burly 
Irishman,  head-first,  down  the  stairway,  leading  to  my  office  — 
at  the  risk  of  breaking  the  poor  fellow's  limbs,  if  not  his  neck. 
I  had  borne  till  I  could  bear  no  longer.  lie  was  making  a 
tremendous  uproar;  and,  when  I  ordered  him  off.  he  swore 
he  wouldn't  budge  a  hair's-breadth.  I  was  unwilling  to  strike 
him,  unless  obliged  to  do  so,  though  he  flourished  his  arms 
about  me,  like  a  windmill  in  a  hurricane;  but  I  pitched  him 
headlong  down  a  steep  flight  of  stairs,  with  such  violence, 
owing  to  the  opposition  he  offered,  that  he  struck  first  on  the 
third  or  fourth  step  from  the  bottom — God  forgive  me!  — 
and  might  have  been  crippled  for  life  ;  but  he  soon  recovered 
himself,  got  up  and  walked  off,  to  the  amazement  of  all  who 
saw  him  on  his  way  down,  without  staggering  or  limping, 
and  I  heard  no  more  of  him.  But  enough  —  too  much  per 
haps  for  a  professor  of  religion,  at  my  age.  Since  then,  I 
have  led  a  very  quiet  life  —  comparatively. 


88  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SPIRITUAL    GROWTH. 

QUAKER  PREACHING  ;   UNIVERSALISM ;    A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE;    SPROUT 
ING  oy  METAPHYSICS;  LANGUAGE;  FREE  AGENCY. 

JAN.  27,  1867.  —  At  last,  after  many  interruptions,  two  or 
three  head-flaws,  and  no  little  embarrassment  in  my  building 
operations,  I  am  able  to  go  on  with  my  story.  Within  the 
last  month,  and  long  since  I  began  the  last  chapter,  we  have 
had  two  of  the  toughest  and  heaviest  snow-storms  I  ever 
saw  ;  and  are  now  up  to  the  waist  in  another,  which  threatens 
to  stop  all  intercourse  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  to  obliterate 
all  our  thoroughfares,  and  highways  and  fences  and  land 
marks,  if  not  to  bury  us  up  altogether. 

And  yet,  our  people  are  swarming  to  their  work,  early  and 
late  ;  the  city  is  going  up  silently  through  the  deep  snow, 
block  after  block,  and  street  after  street.  Prodigious  improve 
ments  are  under  way ;  and  arrangements  are  in  progress, 
before  the  city,  for  loaning  two  millions,  upon  mortgage,  to 
the  sufferers  who  most  need  help,  to  finish  what  they  have 
undertaken. 

I  have  been  very  busy,  not  only  writing  for  the  magazines, 
where,  as  my  papers  are  almost  always  thrown  off  at  a  single 
heat,  there  is  no  danger  of  repetition,  and  not  much  of  for 
getting  what  I  had  to  say ;  but  in  carrying  on  the  work  of 
our  common  hive,  until  I  have  no  less  than  three  new  dwelling- 
houses  finished  and  occupied,  and  two  others,  of  a  larger  size 
and  loftier  pretensions,  well  under  way,  together  with  a  large 
warehouse  on  Exchange  Street;  all  of  which  will  be  ready 
for  occupation  before  the  first  of  April,  D.V. 

And  now  I  begin  to  breathe  freely  once  more,  and  hope  to 
go  on,  for  a  while  at  least,  without  crossing  my  tracks,  or 
repeating  myself,  as  I  may  have  done  heretofore ;  having  so 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  89 

much  to  say,  and  so  little  time  to  say  it  in.  For  who  can 
remember  all  he  has  written,  or  intended  to  write,  if  interrup 
tions  are  frequent,  or  hindrances  occur  to  put  him  out.  as  if 
he  were  adding  up  a  column  of  iigures  for  the  treasury  de 
partment  ? 

To  the  question  therefore.  Properly  speaking.  I  had  no 
religious  education,  and  very  little  of  any  other.  Having 
been  put  behind  a  counter  in  a  retail  haberdashery,  at  the 
age  of  twelve,  unacquainted  with  every  tiling  now  taught  in 
our  coinnx >n  M-hools.  extvpt  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  — 
the  three  H's.  you  know — and  never  having  been  to  school 
since,  for  a  single  day.  I  claim  to  be  —  not  uneducated^  as  all 
are  said  to  be.  who  have  not  been  pushed  through  college,  but 
self-educated.  P>y  this.  1  do  not  mean  that  I  never  attended 
a  course  of  lectures,  or  that  I  never  took  lessons  in  horseman 
ship,  sparring,  or  the  small-sword  ;  or  that  I  never  had  a 
language-master,  long  enough  to  give  me  the  pronunciation, 
at  least,  after  which  I  haye  always  taken  charge  of  myself; 
but  only  that  I  never  went  to  school,  after  I  was  twelve. 

When  I  was  not  more  than  six  —  or  seven,  at  the  outside, 
judging  by  what  I  have  since-  been  told  —  my  mother  gave 
me  half  a  dollar  for  reading  the  IJible  through.  It  was  a 
tough  job;  and  I  thought  I  earned  the  money,  long  before  I 
had  ploughed  through  the  Pentateuch,  with  all  the  strange 
laws,  and  stranger  ceremonies  and  bloody  sacrifices,  though  I 
was  delighted  beyond  measure?  with  the  warlike  achievements 
of  Moses  and  Joshua,  and  with  the  stories  about  Samson  and 
Gideon  and  Saul,  and  the  witch  of  Kndor,  and  was  quite 
carried  away  with  the  tremendous  visions  of  the  Apocalypse. 
I  remember,  too,  with  what  eagerness  I  read  portions  of  the 
Apocrypha,  which  I  found,  without  warning,  between  the 
canonical  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  and  received 
for  scripture  —  I  have  that  very  Bible  before  me  now, 
"printed  by  Isaac  Collins,  Trenton,  1701  '*  —  thinking  them 
quite  equal  to  the  stories  I  had  met  with  about  Rome  and 
Lireece.  or  the  Seven  Labors  of  Hercules  ;  and  that,  on  the 
whole,  the  Adventures  of  liel  and  the  Dragon,  of  Judith  and 
Holofernes.  of  Susanna  and  the  Klders.  and  the  terrible  wars 
of  Judas  Maccaba.'us,  were  quite  as  entertaining,  and  much  of 
a  piece  with  those  of  the  Paladins,  the  Seven  Champions 


90  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  Christendom,  or  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  But 
the  reading,  I  am  afraid,  was  of  little  or  no  advantage  to  me, 
otherwise.  It  led  to  great  confusion  of  thought,  a  hankering 
for  the  marvellous,  at  an  age  when  1  was  incapable  of  distiji- 
guishing  the  true  from  the  false,  or  Bible  stories  from  the 
stories  I  met  with  in  a  score  of  other  books  ;  and  I  read 
everything  that  fell  in  my  war.  I  believe,  too,  that  my  dear 
mother  made  a  great  mistake,  when  she  hired  me  to  read  the 
Bible  through  and  through,  without  help  or  guidance;  and  that 
the  deepest  and  most  abiding  impressions  made  upon  'me 
were  of  a  nature  to  harden  my  heart,  instead  of  softening  it. 
I  read  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren,  to  be  sure,  of  the  Prodigal 
Son,  of  Queen  Esther  and  Mordecai,  and  of  David  and  Jon 
athan,  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  did  the  "Arabian  Nights  ;" 
but  never  so  that  I  understood  their  teaching.  To  me,  it  was 
the  great  and  terrible  God,  not  the  loving  Father,  I  had 
become  acquainted  with.  It  was  Jehovah,  the  uncreated, 
the  everlasting,  and  the  unchangeable,  and  not  Christ,  the 
tender  and  compassionate,  I  had  been  hearing  so  much  of. 

I  can  almost  see  myself  now,  through  the  testimony  of 
another,  a  little  golden-haired  boy,  with  large  blue  eyes,  very 
beautiful  teeth,  and  the  complexion  of  a  girl,  poring  over 
the  great  Book  of  wonders,  in  breathless  awe,  hour  after 
hour,  and  month  after  month,  until  my  task  was  finished ; 
and  the  revelations  went  by  me  like  a  pageant,  and  were  lost 
for  ever  in  the  darkness  that  followed. 

We  had  no  Bible-clnsses,  and  no  sabbath-schools,  in  that 
day ;  and,  among  the  Friends,  neither  creeds  nor  catechism. 
Kor  do  I  remember,  that,  up  to  the  age  of  sixteen,  I  had  ever 
heard  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  read  aloud  anywhere,  by  any 
body  ;  though  it  must  have  been  used  in  some  way  at  the 
school  my  mother  kept,  in  the  old  brick  meeting-house  ;  for 
I  well  remember  the  reply  of  a  boy,  named  Hannaford, 
who,  when  asked  if  they  had  a  Bible  in  the  house,  answered 
they  had  a  Holy  Bible ;  and  that,  in  consequence  of  some 
provocation  —  I  know  not  what  —  I  found  myself  one  day 
kicking  a  Bible  from  the  steps  of  the  school-house  into  the 
street,  and  then  following  it  up,  for  a  rod  or  two,  before  I 
came  to  my  senses. 

Yet  my  mother  was  a  sincere  and  earnest  follower  of  the 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  91 

Great  Teacher,  though  she  made  no  pretensions  to  special 
godliness,  and  never  opened  her  mouth  in  meeting;  and  most 
of  the  Friends  I  ever  knew,  with  here  and  there  an  excep 
tion,  were  devout  inquirers  after  the  truth,  full  of  quiet 
reverence  tor  the  Scriptures,  and  obedient  always  to  what 
they  regarded  as  the  promptings  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

At  \Vindliam-sehool.  to  be  sure,  we  used  to  be  puzzled 
now  and  then,  after  the  exercises  of  the  First-day  were  over, 
with  questions  out  of  the  Bible  —  not  in  the  Bible,  I  am 
sure  —  till  1  was  ready  to  drop  oil'  the  bench,  overcome  with 
sleep  ;  our  master.  Noah  Reed,  a  devout  man.  though  rather 
harsh,  having  no  mercy  on  us  at  such  a  time,  so  long  as 
he  could  keep  himself  awake.  Well  do  I  remember  the 
"strawy  tire"  that  pestered  me  through  my  half-shut  eyes, 
and  mv  utter  weariness  of  spirit,  body,  and  soul,  as  the  ques 
tions  were  solemnly  propounded,  in  a  way  to  frighten  the 
oiliest  and  wisest.  And  when  he  asked  who  was  the  brother 
of  Chri.-t.  child  though  1  was,  it  startled  me.  as  if  he  had 
asked  who  was  the  brother  of  God  himself,  the  Ancient  of 
Days:  I  had  wholly  forgotten  what  was  said  in  Matthew 
about  the  carpenter's  son.  and  his  brethren.  .lames  and  .loses, 
and  Simeon  and  Judas.  To  me  it  seemed  like  blasphemy  — 
not  merelv  irreverence,  but  blasphemy  ;  though,  even  then,  I 
had  taken  a  distinction  between  the  Father  and  Son.  which 
,1  have  never  been  able  to  dispossess  myself  of,  notwith 
standing  mv  ehan^es  of  opinion,  year  after  year,  till  I  had 
adopted  what  is  called  the  orthodox,  or  evangelical  faith. 

As  I  heard  no  preaching  outside  of  the  Quaker  meeting 
house,  till  I  had  reached  the  age  of  sixteen  or  eighteen,  I 
knew  little  of  the  opinions  that  prevailed  among  our  neigh 
bors,  whether  Baptists  or  Methodists,  orthodox  or  heterodox. 
Of  one  thing,  however.  I  began  to  feel  sure  —  that,  say  what 
people  would  about  u  Quaker  sly  and  Presbyterian  sour,"  the 
Quakers  were  in  earnest;  for  had  I  not  seen  Edward  Cobb, 
a  \vi.-e  and  good  man,  of  large  experience,  who  had  come 
over  to  their  faith  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  grow  pale  as 
death,  and  tremble  from  head  to  foot,  and  break  out  into  a 
profuse,  perspiration,  when  he  rose  to  speak,  as  the  Spirit 
moved  him,  a  few  simple  words,  which,  of  themselves, 
amounted  to  little  or  nothing,  but  which  were  made  impres- 


92  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

sive  by  the  man's  evident  sincerity  —  like  those  of  Paul, 
where,  "  in  bodily  presence  weak,  in  speech  contemptible,"  he 
ministered  to  the  brethren  ?  And  had  I  not  seen  Greely 
Hannaford,  another  proselyte,  in  the  strength  of  his  man 
hood,  while  repeating  the  words.  "  He  was  made  a  priest, 
after  the  order  of  Melchisedec."  apropos  to  nothing,  falter 
and  hesitate,  as  if  he  were  on  trial  for  life,  and  had  been 
called  upon  to  say  guilty  or  not  guilty? 

I  would  not  speak  irreverently  of  what  I  saw,  for  the 
impression  made  upon  me  was  deep  and  lasting ;  but  I  did 
not  understand  the  symptoms,  and  of  course  had  no  belief  on 
the  subject,  save  that  I  did  not  question  the  sincerity  of 
my  grandfather  Neal,  Remington  Hobby,  Thankful  Hussey, 
Piiebe  Cobb,  and  the  public  Friends  who  came  to  us  from 
abroad ;  after  one  of  whom,  Rachel  AVilson.  my  mother  was 
.named.  But  T  must  acknowledge  that  I  thought  most  of 
their  preaching  very  tiresome,  religion  itself  a  terrible  bug-- 
bear,  and  the  promptings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  any  thing  but 
'desirable. 

^Nevertheless,  I  had  my  misgivings  ;  and  at  the  age  of  ten, 
having  struck  a  very  amiable  bov,  not  in  an  ire  r.  but  in  play, 
while  we  were  tumbling  about  on  the  hay-mow,  and  the 
poor  fellow  having  soon  after  fallen  sick,  with  what  used 
to  be  called  the  throat-distemper,  I  began  to  be  troubled 
o'  nights,  and  then  to  fear  that  he  owed  his  death,  which 
soon  followed,  to  that  unlucky  blow  in  the  side.  It  was  very 
childish,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  had  no  confidant,  I  was  afraid 
even  to  trust  my  mother ;  and  I  do  believe  now,  that  I  might 
have  been  easily  persuaded  that  I  was  a  murderer,  and  that 
the  Avenger  of  blood  was  after  me,  had  the  testimony  of  my 
conscience  been  taken  for  truth.  Yet  the  blow  was  given  in 
sport,  while  we  were  playing  together  ;  we  were  the  best  of 
friends,  and  nothing  had  ever  happened  between  us,  to  disturb 
the  relationship.  It  could  not  have  been  very  severe,  though 
it  doubled  him  up,  and  he  complained  for  a  few  moments 
that  he  could  not  get  his  breath.  I  was  frightened,  and  man 
aged  to  steal  a\\ay.  as  soon  as  I  could ;  though  he  did  not 
appear  to  mind  it,  after  a  few  minutes.  What  business  had 
my  conscience  here  ?  —  that  conscience  which  *fc  makes  cowards 
of  us  all."  I  had  really  done  nothing  wrong ;  and  yet,  I 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  93 

could  not    sleep,   and.  month  after  month,  was  in  continual 
dread  of  being  found  out. 

Lon<_r  after  this.  I  happened  to  be  out  one  evening  in  the 
neighborhood  <>f  Clav-eove.  where  Klias  Smith,  the  «reat 
Universalist.  was  holdii;::'  forth.  I  had  never  seen  the  inside 
of  anv  other  meeting-house,  or  church,  than  that  of  the 
Friends.  unle.-s  I  except  the  old  Episcopal  Church,  when  it  was 
bought  up.  and  carried  a\vav  bodilv  bv  my  uncle  .lames;  and 
St.  Stephen's.  uh«'ii  it  wa»  LToii)^  "p.  and  J.  a  little  barefooted 
bo\\  used  to  go  then-  for  chips.  I  do  not  remember  the  text. 
nor  the  sermon  ;  but  I  do  remember  that  I  took  a  prodigious 
fancy  to  the  preacher,  he  was  so  funny;  resembling  Rowland 
Hill  and  I -orei i/.o  Dow,  and  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  in  his 
wav  of  dealing  with  the'  questions  of  the  day.  as  1  have  since 
had  <nu>d  rea-ons  for  believing.  And  1  continued  to  hear 
him.  at  long  intervals,  and  with  uncommon  pleasure,  till  he 
removed  to  Portsmouth,  -.New  Hampshire,  where  I  frequently 
found  mvself  at  his  evening  meetings.  He  was  bold,  hazard- 


lone:  alter  I  had  become  a  Unitarian,  up  to  the  auv  of  h'fty- 
eight.  when  I  underwent,  as  I  hope  and  believe,  a  iinal  change 
for  the  better,  in  all  that  belongs  to  religious  belief. 

MY  father's  library  consisted  of  "No  cross,  no  crown." 
Barclay's  "Apology."  ••  Journal  of  Job  Scott.''  Young's  "Night 
Thoughts."  and  Thomas  a  Kempi>  :  all  which  I  read,  along 
with  "  Robinson  Crusoe."  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  "  Don 
Quixote,"  "Caroline  of  Litchfield,"  "Aurora,  or  the  Mys 
terious  Beauty."  "The  Adventures  of  a  Guinea,"  "Tom 
Jones,"  "Charlotte  Temple,"  "Reuben  and  Rachel;"  in 
short,  every  thin<r  I  could  lay  my  hands  on.  with  heaps  of 
magazines,  year  after  year,  up  to  the  age  of  eighteen,  when 
I  took  a  new  start,  with  Ferguson's  Astronomy.  Curran's 
Speeches,  Plutarch's  Lives.  Millot's  General  History,  and 
other  works  of  a  similar  character,  which  had  been  taken  for 
debt  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Willis,  with  whom  1  was  then  living, 
as  a  sort  of  understrapper,  at  forty  dollars  a  year,  with  board 
and  washing -T- not.  mending  ;  I  was  too  far  gone  for  that. 

The  very  first  sabbath,  after  I  had  entered  upon  my  duties 


94  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

in  the  store,  and  was  charmingly  done  up  for  the  occasion,  I 
tried  to  make  one  of  the  family,  as  they  set  off  on  their  way  to 
church  ;  but,  to  my  unspeakable  mortification,  they  headed  me 
off,  and  I  was  invited  to  go  somewhere  else,  and  I  lost  the 
onlv  opportunity  of  hearing  Unitarianism  preached,  for  many 
a  long  year. 

•  Meanwhile,  I  had  given  up  the  Friends'  meeting  altogether, 
on  week-days:  and  in  pleasant  weather,  used  to  go  wandering 
by  myself,  or  occasionally  with  a  single  companion,  through 
all  the  neighboring  woods  and  fields,  and  along  by  the  sea 
shore,  on  the  sabbath  ;  but  always,  I  must  acknowledge,  with 
a  secret  feeling  of  uneasiness,  and  with  many  a  wish  that  some 
place  of  worship,  other  than  the  Friends'  meeting-house, 
were  open  to  me. 

From  my  earliest  recollection.  I  was  a  critic  in  language; 
and  had  a  relish  for  metaphysics.  I  iind  now,  though  I  did  not 
know  it,  at  the  time.  For  example,  while  yet  in  petticoats,  I 
remember  being  much  exercised  by  a  remark  made  in  my 
presence,  about  a  bed  we  children  had  been  making  up  on  the 
floor.  When  we  were  asked  what  it  was,  and  somebody 
answered  a  bed,  my  mother  laughed,  and  said  she  should 
call  it  "a  bed  with  a  ivitness  to  it."  With  a  witness  to  it! 
What  could  she  mean  ?  Were  we  not  all  witnesses  to  it,  one 
as  much  as  another  ?  And  to  this  day,  I  am  not  very  clear 
upon  the  subject,  and  would  give  something  to  know  how  it 
originated. 

Some  years  after  this,  when  I  must  have  been  about  nine, 
jndging  by  other  circumstances,  I  was  greatly  perplexed  at 
hearing  somebody  say,  that  an  orange  he  gave  me  would  eat 
well ;  though  I  adopted  the  phrase,  and  lost  no  time  in  writing 
to  my  sister  and  telling  her  I  should  keep  it  for  her,  till  I  saw 
her  again — she  was  at  Falmouth,  where  my  mother  was 
teaching  school  —  because  it  would  "  eat  well."  But  I  was 
not  entirely  satisfied,  and  never  used  it  again,  having  already 
begun  to  be  '•  nothing,  if  not  critical ;  "  though,  to  this  hour,  I 
am  constantly  hearing  people  of  education  say,  it  reads  so 
and  so. 

About  the  same  time,  I  had  another  experience,  which  I  do 
not  exaggerate  in  saying,  has  haunted  me  from  that  day  to  this. 
On  taking  up  one  of  Hopkins's  razor-strops,  then  just  coming 


SPIKITUAL    GROWTH.  95 

into  use.  niv  eye  fell  upon  the  printed  directions.  They  read 
somewhat  after  this  fashion  :  '•  If  you  want  a  smooth  shave, 
lay  the  ra/or  Hat  ;  otherwise,  it  will  produce  quite  a  contrary 
effect."  Of  course,  the  poor  man.  with  whom,  by  the  way,  I 
had  something  to  do.  many  years  later  in  life,  while  writing 
'•  Allen's  History  of  the  Revolution."  should  have  said  a  dif 
ferent  effect,  instead  of  a  contrary  effect  :  for  how  could  a  cut 
he  contrary  to  a  shave  ?  or.  if  he  meant,  that  if  the  razor  were 
not  laid  iiat,  instead  of  a  smooth  shave,  it  would  be  rough,  why 
the  plague  didn't  he  say  so  ? 

In  this  way,  I  went  on,  step  by  step,  ye-ar  after  year,  till  I 
heard  a  very  clever  woman  talk  about  an  egregious  thunder 
storm,  without  strangling  her  upon  the  spot :  and  no  less  a 
personage  than  John  McLean,  a  student  of  Aaron  Burr's, 
and  one  of  Dewitt  Clinton's  judges,  declare;  that,  in  the  High 
lands,  they  had  just  had  an  "  eleyant  thunder-storm,"  without 
calling  him  out  ;  and  others  to  this  day,  not  only  talking,  but 
writing,  about  this  and  that  being  redolent  of  genius  or  sun 
shine,  with  twaddle  for  /traffic,  and  res/ire  for  restless. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  removed  to  Portsmouth,  and  one  day 
happening  to  be  altogether  alone,  with  a  volume  of  Rees's 
Cyclopaedia,  then  just  received,  lying  open  before  me.  I  came 
upon  the  following  paragraph,  in  substance  :  I  do  not  under 
take  to  <iive  the  words  :  for  I  have  not  seen  them  since,  and 
know  not  where  to  find  them  :  "  God  does  not  threaten, 
that  man  mav  sin.  and  so  be  punished  ;  but  that  he  may  not 
sin,  and  so  escape.  Therefore,,  the  higher  the  threatening 
runs,  the  greater  the  goodness  of  God." 

Here  was  a  tremendous  fallacy  ;  and  yet.  if  the  premises 
were  granted  —  and  who  would  think  of  denying  them?  — 
how  could  we  escape  ihe  conclusion  ?  If  true,  then  the  laws 
of  Draco,  which  were  said  to  be  written  with  blood,  because 
they  punished  every  transgression  with  death,  might  be  so 
many  proofs  of  goodness  in  the  lawgiver.  I  was  not  a  logi 
cian.  I  knew  little  or  nothing  of  logic,  though  I  had  gone 
through  with  Aristotle;  but  I  understood  the  use1  of  language 
for  common  purposes,  and  had.  beyond  all  question,  a  great 
natural  aptitude  for  metaphysics.  From  that  moment,  a  new 
world  was  open  to  me.  I  began  to  feel  acquainted  with 
myself.  I  was  no  longer  afraid  to  meddle  with  prohibited 


96  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

themes  —  with  God's  foreknowledge  and  man's  freedom  — 
nor  unwilling  to  investigate  any  subject  that  fell  in  my  way. 
My  church-going  at  Portsmouth  was  regular,  but  whimsi 
cally  varied.  I  had  a  seat  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  where 
Dr.  Burroughs  had  jnst  been  settled  ;  and  I  went  once  every 
sabbath,  after  dining  with  my  old  master,  Rundlet.  to  hear 
Dr.  Buckminster;  and  almost  every  sabbath-evening,  to  hear 
Elias  Smith ;  but,  I  must  acknowledge,  without  growing 
either  wiser  or  better.  I  went.  I  hardly  know  why  ;  because  I 
had  no  pleasanter  way  of  passing  the  time,  perhaps,  or  be 
cause  other  people  went,  with  whom  I  associated. 

After  this,  I  went  back  to  Portland,  where  I  sometimes 
heard  Dr.  Nichols  and  Dr.  Payson,  and  sometimes  a  Univer- 
salist  or  a  Methodist;  and  thence  to  Bath,  where  I  sat  for  a 
while  under  the  teachings  of  Dr.  Jenks  ;  thence  to  Augusta, 
where  I  attended  Dr.  Toppan's  church ;  thence  to  Boston, 
where  I  first  heard  Edward  Everett,  and  then  Mr.  Hunting 
don  of  the  Old  South,  for  a  pastor ;  and  thence  to  New  York, 
where  I  heard  Dr.  Mason,  Dr.  Nott,  and  others  of  that  school ; 
and  thence  to  Baltimore,  where,  after  attending  Dr.  Inglis  for 
a  twelvemonth  or  so,  I  took  a  pew  in  the  Unitarian  Church, 
when  Mr.  Sparks  was  settled,  and  continued  there,  until  I 
went  abroad;  where,  after  hearing  Dr.  Raffles  at  Liverpool, 
and  Edward  Irving  in  London,  and  a  few  of  the  established 
faith,  I  gave  up  church-going  altogether,  and  spent  my  sab 
baths  I  hardly  know  how  —  sometimes  botanizing  through  the 
regions  round  about  London  ;  sometimes  visiting  distant  neigh 
borhoods  for  a  walk,  with  John  Stuart  Mill,  Roebuck,  Walter 
Coulson,  and  others  ;  and  sometimes  upon  the  parallel  bars,  the 
rack,  or  the  wooden  horse,  in  Mr.  Bentham's  great  garden. 
After  my  return  to  my  native  town  —  having  made  up  my 
mind  to  settle  on  my  lees,  if  I  could  do  nothing  better  —  I 
began  to  church  it  once  a  day,  and,  after  my  marriage,  some 
what  oftener ;  and  at  last  became  a  regular  attendant  twice 
a  day  at  Dr.  Chickering's  church,  where,  in  course  of  time,  I 
was  led  to  see  things  in  a  different  light,  and  became  a  pro 
fessor  of  the  orthodox  type,  eschewing  both  Universal  ism  and 
Unitarianism,  as  not  only  unsatisfying,  but  as,  iu  my  judgment, 
both  unwholesome  and  unsafe. 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  foregoing  account  of  my  course,  for 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  97 

the  Greater  part  of  my  life,  that  I  had  opportunities  enough,  and 
of  the  best  kind,  for  forming  my  opinions.  All  the  preachers 
I  heard  were  able  and  sincere,  and  some  greatly  distinguished. 
But  still  my  mind  \va.s  not  made  up:  I  was  not  satisfied  with 
what  I  heard  and  saw.  and  might-  have  none  on  to  the  end, 
from  pillar  to  po-t.  had  nor  my  eyes  been  opened  most  un 
expectedly  in  !*•">!.  soon  after  which.  1  became  a  member  of 
the  High-street  Church,  where  I  have  continued  from  that 
day  to  this,  and  where  I  hope  to.  die. 

While  in  Baltimore,  and  sitting  under  the  ministration  of 
Mr.  Sparks,  my  mind  was  accidentally  determined  upon  a 
question  I  had  never  before  investigated.  Sitting  with  Mr. 
Pieroont  one  day.  while  I  was  studying  law,  and  trying  to  cut 
mv  own  fodder  —  with  my  pen  —  something  was  said  about 
motives,  or  what  Bentham  calls  the  "springs  of  action  ;"  and 
he  asked  me  two  questions  :  lirst.  whether  we  are  governed  by 
motives  :  and.  secondly,  whence  our  motives  originated.  I 
answered,  as  best  1  could,  maintaining  that,  as  reasonable 
beings,  we  must,  be  governed  by  motives  ;  and  then  that, 
whether  reasonable  or  unreasonable,  it  must  be  the  same,  and 
that  even  the  brutes  were  governed  by  motives.  Further 
more,  after  feeling  about  in  the  dark  for  a  while.  I  contended 
that  motives  did  not  originate  with  us.  but  were  influences 
from  abroad,  coming  and  going  without  our  consent,  and  not 
onlv  influencing,  but  determining  our  actions. 

Seeing  where  this  would  lead  me.  my  excellent  friend  be 
came  alarmed,  and  undertook  to  lay  the  devil  he  had  raised, 
by  comparing  the  mind  to  a  pair  of  scales,  in  which  motives 
were  to  be  weighed,  as  we  called  them  up  ;  but  he  was  too 
late.  Nor  did  his  explanation  help  the  matter.  It  was  begging 
the  question.  If  we  had  power  to  call  up  motives,  or  reasons, 
what  was  that  but  originating  motives  and  reasons  ? 

He  appealed  to  my  consciousness  ;  but  consciousness,  like 
the  senses,  might  be  deceived.  Although  it  were  true  that  we 
always  act  as  if  we  knew  ourselves  to  be  tree  —  and  all  our 
plans  and  calculations  are  founded  upon  that  belief,  and  we 
mav  verify  the  fact  at  any  moment  by  lifting  a  hand,  or  for 
bearing —  still  thoe  facts  would  not  be  conclusive;  and  they 
rniii'ht  exist,  even  if  we  were  not  free  agents.  Unless  we  can 
originate  our  motives,  without  help  or  hindrance,  we  are  not 


(J6  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

free.    Nay.  more  :  there  can  be  but  one  Being  in  the  universe, 
o"f  whom  free-agency  may  be  predicated. 

k'  But  why  so  ?  "  asked  my  friend,  with  a  troubled  expression 
I  never  shall  forget. 

t;  Because  we  act  from  motives,  and  these  motives  are  out 
side  of  us.  They  come  from  our  constitutions,  our  habits,  our 
parentage,  our  education,  and  from  all  the  surroundings  of 
our  life." 

'•  But  does  not  God  act  from  motive  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  we  are  as  free  as  God  is  ;  and  what  more  would  we 
have  ?  " 

u  Ah  !  but  his  motives  are  not  like  our  motives.  They  are 
rather  purposes  than  motives  ;  or,  at  any  rate,  if  he  be  influ 
enced  by  any  motive  outside  of  himself,  then  that  motive  is 
God,  and  so  far  even  God  himself  is  not  free." 

By  this  time,  I  had  got  bewildered.  My  head  ached ;  and 
I  felt  as  if  I  was  stretching  out  my  arms  over  a  fathomless 
abyss,  and  groping  for  truth  in  the  secret  place  of  thunder, 
lie  did  all  he  could  to  divert  my  attention  from  the  subject, 
and  tried  to  satisfy  me  with  arguments  and  explanations, 
which  I  am  quite  sure  had  never  satisfied  himself.  This  I 
resented,  and  straightway  determined  to  investigate  the  awful 
question,  patiently  and  faithfully  —  and  reverentially  —  step 
by  step,  lead  me  whithersoever  it  might.  Soon  after  this,  I 
met  with  the  correspondence  between  Frederick  and  Voltaire; 
and  then  with  Reid,  who  undertook  to  show  that  transgression 
depends  not  upon  the  act,  but  upon  the  will,  thereby  following 
out  the  doctrines  of  our  Saviour ;  and  therefore,  if  we  choose 
to  disobey,  though  in  fact  we  might  be  unable  to  obey,  our 
guilt  is  the  same  as  if  in  fact  we  were  able.  By  way  of  illus 
tration,  he  supposes  a  man  to  be  confined  in  jail.  He  is 
ordered  to  go  out.  He  refuses  to  stir.  Now,  although  the 
prison-doors  should  be  locked  and  barred,  yet  if  the  man  did 
not  know  this,  but  refused  to  go  out,  and  even  to  make  the 
attempt  while  he  supposed  the  doors  to  be  open,  the  disobe 
dience  being  an  act  of  the  will,  and  in  no  way  dependent  upon 
the  fact  of  the  doors  being  open,  he  justly  incurs  the  punish 
ment.  Believing  himself  to  be  free,  he  sins  just  as  much  as 
if  he  were  free.  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  language  :  I 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  99 

only  give  the  substance  of  the  argument,  as  I  remember  it. 
And  this  not  onlv  satisfied  the  <:reat  metaphysician,  but  was 
published  to  the  world  to  sati.-fv  others.  To  me.  it  was  but 
miserable  trilling-  It' we  art1  not  in  fact  free,  and  it  should 
come  to  be  known  hereafter  that  we  have  been  under  a  delu 
sion  from  the  iir-t.  when  we  believed  ourselves  free — and 
that  the  prison-doors  were  locked  and  barred,  when  we  sup 
posed  them  to  be  wide  open  —  the  whole  problem  will  re 
solve  itself  into  a  question  of  /<trf.  not  of  belief.  And  then 
is  it  possible  that  we  are  to  be  punished  for  disobeying,  when 
it  wa-  impossjlile  to  obey,  only  because  we  did  not  happen  to 
know  that  it  was  impossible? 

Soon  after  this,  the  same  question  was  raised  in  our  club 
—  the  Delphian  club:  and  I  went  over  the  whole  ground,  not 
in  a  speech  —  no.  thank  Heaven  !-— but  in  conversation,  with 
Paul  Allen.  Mr.  Pierpont,  and  others,  until  I  had  convinced 
mvself  anew,  that  only  one  Being  in  the  wide  universe  could 
be  five  —  free,  that  is.  from  all  outward  influences  ;  and  that, 
therefore,  man,  not  being  a  free  agent,  was  not  accountable. 
At  this  time,  (-iod's  foreknowledge  had  not  been  much  in  mv 
way.  though  Ixeid  had  undertaken  to  show  that  God's  fore 
knowledge  had  nothing  more  to  do  with  man's  free  airencv, 
than  ( iod's  memory  —  the  future,  like  the  past,  being  unaffected 
by  that  knowledge.  Mere  metaphysics,  thought  I  :  and.  from 
that  time  forward.  I  met  with  nothing,  although  I  read  every 
work  I  heard  of.  upon  the  subject,  until  Kdwards  on  the  Will 
turned  up  in  mv  path,  which  afforded  me  any  satisfaction. 

Before  I  had  touched  bottom,  however,  I  happened  to  go 
North,  on  a  visit  to  Portland,  where  my  mother  and  sister 
lived :  having  completed  my  law  studies,  and  bein^  ready 
tor  admission  to  the  bar  on  my  return.  While  at  Boston, 
my  old  friend  Lee  agreed  to  take  a  trip  to  Portland  with  me. 
But,  when  the  coach  called  for  us.  he  came  running  in.  all 
out  of  breath,  and  looking  rather  pale,  to  say  that  Dr.  Pavson 
was  aboard.  "Well,  what  if  he  is?"  said  I.  "Only  this, 
that  I  sha'n't  go  to-day,"  was  the  reply.  '•  Pooh,  pooh  !  what 
do  you  care  for  Dr.  Pavson?"  said  I.  u  He  was  my  old  pre 
ceptor  in  the  academy,  and  I  should  like  to  meet  him  once 
more,  now  that  I  have  shoes  and  stockings  to  my  feet ;  and 
you.  surely,  my  friend,  you  \vill  not  refuse  to  see  your  own 
pastor  ?  " 


100  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  knew  that  Lee  had  attended  Dr.  Payson's  church,  and  I 
had  been  told  at  one  time,  that  he  had  been  quite  serious 
under  the  powerful  preaching  of  this  great  and  good  man  ;  but 
the  seriousness  had  worn  off,  and  now  I  saw  that  he  was 
afraid  to  meet  him.  I  expostulated ;  and  at  last  he  yielded, 
saying,  as  lie  did  so,  that  we  shouldn't  have  any  fun  till  we 
reached  Portland.  "  Why  so  ? "  I  asked.  "  Oh  !  he  is  so 
solemn,"  said  Lee ;  **  and  he  never  loses  an  opportunity  of 
preaching.  I  don't  know  what  I  would  give  to  hear  him 
laugh  once — just  once." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I ;  "  we'll  make  him  laugh." 

*'  A  bottle  o'  wine  you  can't." 

"Done  !  "  said  I ;  "and,  what  is  more,  I'll  make  him  laugh, 
and  laugh  heartily  too,  before  we  pass  Charlestown  bridge." 

I  was  as  good  as  my  word.  We  had  a  very  pleasant  play 
ful  conversation  for  the  first  half-hour,  and  I  told  two  or  three 
stories  which  u  brought  down  the  house." 

At  last  —  I  know  not  how,  for  I  did  not  introduce  it  —  we 
got  upon  the  subject  of  free-agency :  and  we  battled  the 
watch  for  about  one  hundred  miles,  to  the  amazement  of  poor 
Lee,  and  the  horror  of  two  church-members,  who  caught  their 
breath,  arid  rolled  up  their  eyes,  whenever  the  doctor  spoke 
to  them.  Once  or  twice,  I  thought  him  rather  uncivil,  and 
told  him  so.  Two  or  three  times  he  tried  me  with  a  fallacy, 
which  I  refused  to  swallow  ;  and  counselled  him  to  reserve  his 
milk  for  babes,  and  give  me  lions'  meat,  if  he  had  any  to 
spare.  When  we  parted,  he  shook  hands  with  me,  and 
seemed  desirous  of  a  further,  if  not  a  better,  acquaintance, 
which  I  did  not  much  wonder  at,  for  I  had  been  rather  saucy 
at  times  ;  but  we  never  met  again.  The  next  day,  the  whole 
town  was  alive  with  reports  of  our  controversy,  and  the  First 
Parish  all  agog ;  their  pastor,  the  amiable  and  excellent  Dr. 
Nichols,  and  Dr.  Payson,  both  Misters  at  the  time,  and  both 
young  men,  being  at  loggerheads. 

On  my  return  to  Baltimore,  I  found  Dr.  Tobias  Watkins, 
the  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  "  Portico,"  for  which  I  had 
been  writing,  just  ready  to  set  off  on  a  tour  of  inspection, 
as  one  of  the  assistant  surgeon-generals  of  the  United-States 
Army.  He  insisted  on  my  taking  charge  of  that  journal, 
which  had  begun  to  appear  quarterly,  instead  of  monthly,  and 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  101 

was  always  behind  :  assuring  me  that  all  the  copy  I  should 
want  was  ready,  and  that  I  had  only  to  write  a  few  pages, 
at  most. 

I  consented  :  but  lo.  and  behold  !  as  we  say  Down-East,  I 
found,  when  it  was  too  late,  and  he  was  five  or  six  hundred 
miles  bevond  mv  reach,  that  he  had  little  or  nothing  prepared. 
I  had  to  20  to  work  therefore,  and  write  a  lame  part  of  the 
whole  number,  more  tnan  two-thirds.  I  believe.  It  was  there, 
that  my  article  headed  ••  Man  not  a  Free  Agent."  appeared 
at  full  length,  and  1  may  add.  in  lull  weight  :  for  it  sunk  the 
"Portico"  at  her  moorings,  or.  at  anv  rate,  our  friend 
Wat  kins  being  sadly  embarrassed,  not  another  number  ap 
peared. 

The  conclusions  I  reached  there,  was.  that  man  is  not  a 
free  airent.  his  convictions  to  the  contrary,  notwithstanding; 
and  that  the  foreknowledge  of  Ciod  was  of  itself  enough  to 
prove  this  ;  because  if  (iod  foreknows  an  event,  that  event 
must  happen,  and  cannot  be  contingent,  whether  man  be  free, 
or  not. 

lint,  within  a  tew  years,  I  have  <?rown  afraid  of  myself, 
and  still  more1  afraid  of  controversy:  holdinir  that  God's  fore 
knowledge  and  man's  freedom,  the  origin  of  evil.:md  the  neces 
sity  of  transgression  —  perhaps  that  suffering  mav  follow  — 
and  then  charity  and  brotherly  love,  and  self-denial,  and  self- 
sacrifice.  and  all  the  Christian  graces,  and  pity,  and  sympathy, 
and  patience,  and  submission,  and  resignation.  —  are  amonir  the 
unfathomable  mvsteries.  which  we  cannot  hope  to  understand, 
until  it  shall  please  Him  to  enlarge  our  faculties,  and  we 
become  "as  gods,  knowing  good  from  evil:"  that  we  are 
bound  to  draw  a  line  between  the  knowable  and  the  unknow 
able,  and  the  >ooner  the  better,  and  never  try  to  pass  the 
bounds  of  the  knowable.  however  tempted  ;  that  we  must 
believe  on  the  evidence  of  our  senses,  where  the  senses  are 
witnesses,  without  regard  to  the  testimony  of  our  understand 
ings,  where  a  contradiction  is  found,  notwithstanding  all  that 
we  hear  and  >ee  of  jugglers,  and  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  all  our  senses  are  found  to  play  us  false  sometimes. 
Being  put  here,  not  tui-  speculation,  but  for  action,  and  being 
endowed  with  senses,  which  hurry  us  to  a  thousand  instan 
taneous  conclusions,  at  every  step  we  take,  on  our  senses 


102  TVANDERIITO    RECOLLECTIONS. 

we  niust  rely,  and  ao  rely  in  all  the  business  of  life  —  it  cannot 
be  otherwise  —  leaving  our  reason  to  follow  at  leisure. 

According  to  the  evidence  of  our  senses,  and  of  our  con 
sciousness,  we  are  free  —  free  enough  to  render  us  accountable 
beings,  though  neither  omnipotent  nor  omnipresent  :  and  al 
though  we  may  reason  ourselves  into  a  contrary  belief,  with 
our  present  limited  knowledge  of  a  supreme  intelligence, 
we  cannot  help  deciding  against  ourselves,  when  we  come 
to  action ;  in  other  words,  we  cannot  help  acting  against 
our  own  convictions. 

Let  me  add.  that,  as  in  our  Father's  house  there  are  many 
mansions,  so,  I  believe,  are  there  many  different  ways 
of  reaching  those  mansions  —  many  different  ways,  there 
fore,  of  being  right.  My  own  experience,  or  what  I  have 
chosen  to  call,  in  the  heading  of  this  chapter,  '"spiritual 
growth,"  has  satisfied  me  that  the  higher  we  go  in  our  Chris 
tian  life,  the  less  sensible  is  our  progress,  not  only  to  our 
selves,  but  to  others.  It  is  like  going  up  a  mountain  ;  and 
that,  even  though  we  are  called  at  the  eleventh  hour,  we  have 
always  a  day's  work  to  do,  with  so  much  less  time  to  do  it  in. 

Perhaps  a  hint  or  two  may  not  be  thrown  away  here.  I 
was  habitually  profane:  a  friend,  in  no  way  remarkable  for 
talent,  or  position,  remonstrated  with  me ;  and  I  gave  up  the 
practice. 

I  went  to  church  once  a  day,  and  never  more,  till  another 
friend  suggested  in  a  quiet,  unpretending  way,  that  perhaps 
I  might  find  it  worth  while  to  go  twice  a  day.  Since  then, 
and  that  was  twenty  years  ago,  I  should  think,  I  have  always 
been  twice  a  day.  and  sometimes  oftener,  unless  prevented  by 
something  serious. 

When  about  being  married,  my  wife's  mother,  a  pious 
woman  of  the  Orthodox  faith,  and  a  member  of  Dr.  Payson's 
church,  expressed  a  fear  that  I  should  carry  off  her  daughter 
bodily  to  the  Unitarian,  or  Universal  is  t  Church.  I  said,  "  No  : 
she  may  go  where  she  pleases,  and  I  will  go  with  her.  For 
myself.  I  do  not  care  what  church  I  attend,  if  the  preacher  is 
honest  and  faithful."  And  the  consequence  was,  that,  after  our 
marriage,  we  settled  down  together,  in  the  family  pew,  under 
the  preaching  of  Dr.  Tyler,  and  then  of  Dr.  Vail,  successors 
of  Dr.  Pavson  ;  and  remained  there  till  our  translation  above 


SPIRITUAL    GROWTH.  103 

High  Street.  whore  we  continued  our  attendance  —  first,  under 
the  pastorship  of  Mr.  lieckweth.  and  then  of  Mr.,  now  Dr. 
Chickcrinu' — until  the  year  1851.  when  my  sister  —  mv  only 
sister —  my  wife,  and  myself,  were  all  admitted  to  the  Church, 
on  tht'  same  day.  Since  then  my  sister,  my  mother,  and  many 
more  of  my  beloved  ones,  including  a  son  and  a  daughter, 
have  all  passed  awav.  leaving  us  to  prepare,  as  best  we  may, 
for  the  meeting  hereafter. 

Incident-,  little  regarded  at  the  time,  and  hardly  worth 
mentioning  in  after  life,  not  nnfiv<juently  determine  our 
whole  coarse  on  earth.  Had  I  not  been  remonstrated  with, 
by  a  devout  and  humble  Christian.  I  miirht  n>>ver  have  aban 
doned  the  habit  of  cursing  and  swearing,  never  have  gone 
twice  a  day  to  church,  and  never  have  become,  what  1  pro 
fess  to  be  now,  a  follower  of  the  meek  and  lowlv  Jesus.  Am 
I  wrong  in  saying  thus  much  of  what  1  have  chosen  to  call 
"spiritual  growth  " ''  May  it  not  be  of  some  use  to  others  — 
a  help,  and  not  a  hindrance;  a  word  of  encouragement,  if 
nothing  more  't 


104  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SELF-EDUCATION. 

ABSURDITIES  OF  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR;  FIRST  ESSAYS  IN  DRAWING  AND 
PAINTING;  MISCELLANEOUS  READING:  MORTIFICATION;  FRENCH,  SPAN 
ISH,  AND  OTHER  LANGUAGES:  OUTLINE  OF  STUDY;  LITERARY  LABORS; 
SPARRING,  FENCING,  AND  GYMNASTICS. 

FEB.  6,  18G7.  —  Another  heavy  snow-storm  last  night,  with 
sleet  and  rain,  which,  if  the  whole  city  were  not  roofed  in, 
would  have  played  the  very  mischief  with  us.  The  two 
millions  proposed  for  a  building-loan  have  dwindled  down 
to  one  million,  just  when  we  wanted  the  sum  enlarged ;  and 
yet,  with  one  million,  wisely  apportioned,  no  one  being  al 
lowed  to  borrow  over  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  what  may  not 
be  accomplished  by  the  industrious  and  enterprising,  though 
we  do  have  to  pay  government-interest  for  the  loan  ?  The 
bill  goes  before  the  legislature  to-day  or  to-morrow.  And 
now  for  self-education. 

The  best-educated  man  is,  after  all,  more  self-educated 
than  he  is  any  thing  else.  What  we  do  for  ourselves  in  the 
way  of  education,  no  human  being  can  do  for  us.  And  the 
simple  fact,  that  the  self-educated  make  a  boast  of  it,  shows 
that  they  think  themselves  'entitled  to  greater  commendation, 
for  doing  what  they  have  done  without  help,  and  that  there 
fore  help  is  an  advantage,  the  help  of  others,  even  in  their 
estimation.  To  brag  that  you  have  made  your  way  without 
the  help  of  a  collegiate  course,  what  is  it,  after  all,  but  an 
admission  that  a  collegiate  course  has  its  advantages  ?  And 
so  it  has ;  but  look  at  the  disadvantages.  You  grow  to  a 
mould ;  you  adopt  the  opinions  of  your  teacher,  not  always, 
indeed,  but  so  generally,  that,  if  you  know  where  a  man  has 
been  educated,  you  know  what  his  views  and  opinions  are 
upon  a  great  variety  of  subjects  —  in  literature,  in  philosophy, 
in  languages,  and  sometimes  in  politics  and  religion. 


SELF-EDUCATION.  105 

Feb.  10.  1807.  —  Another  snow-storm,  though  nothing 
serious  :  and  I  am  able  once  more  to  take  up  the  thread  of 
my  story.  Weather,  all  we  could  wish  for  —  cold,  clear,  and 
bracing  ;  and  everywhere  the  work  goes  bravely  on. 

Let  me  proceed,  therefore,  with  what  I  had  to  say  about 
self-education,  preliminary  to  my  own  lar^e  and  varied  ex 
perience.  Having  mastered  the  rudiments  of  a  common  — 
I  might  say  the  commonest  —  education,  for  New  England, 
with  the  help  of  my  mother,  who  was  quite  famous  for  read 
ing,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  and  never  made  a  mistake  in 
spelling;  and  of  Master  Boyce,  Master  Reed.  Master  Patten, 
Master  Gregg,  Master  Moody,  and  Preceptor  Payson,  I  was 
put  behind  a  counter,  at  the  age  of  twelve',  and  there  left  to 
earn  my  own  living,  as  best  I  might ;  in  other  words,  to  shift 
for  myself. 

I  must  have  written  a  good  hand  for  a  boy  of  that  age  ;  for 
1  well  remember  that  a  Mr.  Warren,  who  had  made  up  a 
large  invoice  with  '•  us"  and  who  was  himself  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  penmen  I  ever  knew,  insisted  on  having 
the  bills  made-  out  by  me.  on  account  of  my  handwriting. 
lint,  so  far  as  1  can  trust  my  recollection,  mv  stvle  was 
nnlixed.  and  ehicily  remarkable  for  freedom  and  flourish, 
waminii  both  uniformity  and  precision.  With  me.  indeed, 
penmanship  was  an  art.  I  had  a  passion  for  it.  as  my  father 
and  mother  had  before  me:  my  mother  having  few  equals 
with  the  pen.  and  my  father  none  at  all.  From  my  earliest 
recollection.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  writing  "pieces"'  for  exhi 
bition,  and  ornamenting  them  with  flourishes,  colored  or 
.emblazoned,  in  o-;unbo<j[e.  or  vermilion,  and  touched  off  with 
indigo  —  exceedingly  barbarous,  I  must  acknowledge;  for  I 
met  with  a  specimen  not  long  ago.  and  felt  ashamed  of  it, 
although  I  can  remember  when  it  was  greatly  admired. 

I  was  reckoned  a  ifood  reader,  when  I  left  school,  but  had 
no  opportunity  of  practising,  till  I  had  reached  the  age  of 
thirty,  when  I  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Pierpont,  and 
astonished  him  not  a  little  one  day:  it  was  the  first' time  he 
had  ever  heard  me  read  any  thing  more  than  a  letter,  a  bill 
of  parcels,  or  an  advertisement.  I  had  been  looking  at  a 
new  poem,  which  had  just  appeared  — u  The  Revolt  of 
Islam,"  by  Shelley  ;  and,  in  calling  his  attention  to  it,  I  read 


106  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

a  few  lines.  lie  asked  me  to  read  on.  I  did  for  a  while, 
and  stopped.  "  Go  on,"  said  he,  -  go  on."  I  consented,  and 
finished  the  poem  before  he  let  me  off.  "  John,"  said  he, 
with  glistening  eyes,  "  you  are  a  poet ! "  I  laughed,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it,  until,  after  our  failure  in  business, 
I  began  to  write  for  the  press.  I  had  probably  never  read 
aloud  so  much  as  a  single  page,  from  the  day  I  left  school ; 
but  I  had  the  instinct  which  seldom  or  never  misleads,  and  in 
due  time,  it  flowered  into  all  sorts  of  extravagance. 

I  was  a  good  arithmetician,  too,  and  very  quick  at  figures, 
having  gone  through  Walsh's  Arithmetic,  almost  without  stop 
ping  to  breathe,  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  my  dear  mother, 
who  allowed  of  no  slurring  or  forcing,  and  suffered  no  item 
to  escape  her;  so  quick,  indeed,  that  I  used  to  carry  out 
entries  like  these:  28|  yds.  calico  at  Is.  10^.,  or  20f  broad 
cloth  at  27s.  6e?.,  as  if  J  had  the  calculation  lying  before 
me,  or  a  table  committed  to  memory,  and  oftentimes  without 
stopping  to  make  a  figure  ;  but  always  in  a  way  of  my  own, 
though  somewhat  resembling  that  of  "  Practice." 

Hut  I  knew  nothing  of  English  grammar  ;  nothing  of 
geography,  or  astronomy,  or  the  use  of  the  globes ;  nothing 
of  rhetoric  or  natural  philosophy  ;  nor  indeed  of  any  other  of 
the  multitudinous  branches  that  have  since  been  taught  in 
our  common  schools.  And  yet,  I  had  gone  to  the  academy, 
when  Dr.  Payson  was  preceptor ;  and  I  had  been  two  or 
three  winters  —  two,  I  believe  —  at  a  Quaker  boarding- 
school  in  AVindham. 

So  far  as  English  grammar  was  concerned,  it  was  no  fault 
of  mine  that  I  did  not  become  a  proficient ;  for,  after  bother 
ing  a  while  over  the  "Young  Ladies' Accidence,"  and  getting 
so  that  I  could  parse  —  or,  rather,  pass  —  with  great  readi 
ness  and  fluency,  the  grammar  was  changed  for  »*  Clarke's," 
and  I  had  to  begin  afresh,  and  learn  a  new  set  of  rules,  with 
the  examples  and  exceptions,  and  the  exceptions  to  excep 
tions,  till  I  had  got  completely  bewildered,  and  have  so  con 
tinued,  from  that  day  to  this  ;  all  that  I  know  of  English 
grammar  now,  all  that  I  ever  knew,  being  that  "preposi 
tions  govern  the  objective  case,"  and  that  "the  verb  to  be  has 
the  same  case  after  it  as  beforet.it"  —  rules  which  I  have 
constantly  heard  violated  by  grammarians,  who  could  parse 


SELF-EDUCATION.  107 

•whole  paires  without  catching  their  breath,  and  give  a  thousand 
reasons  for  saving.  ••  //  /,<?  me  :  ''  or.  ••  if  anyhodv  wants  me, 
tell  tJtem  I  >hall  he  back  in  a  fe\v  minutes;"  "yon  was 
there.  ic<ts  yon.''"  — the  common  language  of  tlie  bar:  and 
iit'tv  other  phrases,  no  \vliit  more  preposterous  than  these, 
which  I  could  give  now  from  recollection,  if  it  were  worth 
while  :  such  as,  ••  between  you  and  I/'  or  "  him  and  me  went 
to  school  together.''  or  ••  he  is  older  than  me." 

So  that  I  have  come  to  look  upon  English  grammar  as  a 
delusion  and  a  snare  :  and  poor  Lindley  Murray,  and  the 
<_rreat  majority  of  his  followers,  who  give  such  ponderous  and 
complicated  rules,  in  language  so  abstract  and  metaphysical, 
not  to  sav  unintelligible,  as  no  better  than  so  manv  well- 
meaning  conundrum-weavers,  mountebanks,  or  jugglers.  The 
laws  of  universal  grammar  we  need  to  be  acquainted  with, 
of  course  ;  and.  thank  God.  they  may  be  learned  by  a  child 
in  a  single  evening,  while  the  pestiferous  inventions  that  pass 
for  grammars,  in  every  earthly  language.  >eem  intended  only 
to  perplex  and  mvstifv.  That  we  must  have  iirammars,  I 
admit  ;  grammars  of  some  sort,  for  reference,  though  not  for 
study,  much  less  for  learning  by  heart.  Still,  in  my  judg 
ment,  you  no  more  need  a  grammar  for  language,  than  for 
horsemanship,  or  fencing,  or  swimming,  or  dancing.  At  best, 
they  are  onlv  substitutes  for  a  teacher,  and  for  practice, 
though  never  of  much  use  in  learning  to  talk  a  language. 
But.  furthermore. — 

Suppose  it  were  the  fashion  to  make  a  child  study  a  gram 
mar  of  horsemanship,  to  commit  all  the  rules  to  memorv,  and 
all  the  exceptions  and  examples,  and  then  to  stand  up  in  a 
large  school,  and  undergo  an  examination  before  a  committee, 
upon  every  conceivable  case,  real  or  supposititious,  and  give 
a  reason  or  a  rule,  in  the  very  language  of  the  book  ;  and  to 
do  all  this,  before  he  is  lifted  into  the  saddle,  or  allowed 
to  touch  whip  or  spur. 

Instead  of  saying,  elbows  close  !  wrist  level  !  thumb  up  ! 
advance  the  chest !  heels  down  !  toes  in  !  hollow  the  back  ! 
left  shoulder  forward  !  legs  under  you  !  head  up  !  &c.,  sup 
pose  the  poor  boy  or  girl  required  to  give  a  rule  for  each  of 
these  positions,  and  this  exercise  should  be  called  parsing: 
in  what  would  it  differ  from  the  ordinary  method  of  teaching 


108  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

English  grammar,  by  the  help  of  metaphysics,  logarithms, 
and  conundrums? 

"  John,  do  thee  know  grammar  ?  "  said  one  of  my  cousins 
at  Windham.  speaking  in  the  name  of  all  the  rest,  who  were 
a  little  anxious  to  see  how  far  ahead  of  the  town-boy  they 
were,  with  their  new  master.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
heard  the  phrase,  English-grammar,  or  the  word,  grammar, 
in  all  my  life  ;  and,  I  dare  say,  I  turned  up  my  nose,  in  reply, 
as  if  it  were  one  of  the  studies  we  considered  beneath  us,  in 
our  schools.  But,  after  I  reached  home,  I  took  upon  myself 
to  inquire,  and  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  the  "  Young  Ladies' 
Accidents  ;"  with  what  advantage,  I  have  already  stated. 

I  had  also  a  great  fondness  for  drawing  and  painting, 
and  a  natural  taste  for  both  —  a  sincere  and  hearty  relish,  I 
might  say :  but,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  little  or  no  talent  for 
either.  About  this  time,  I  used  to  paint  roses,  strawberries, 
and  watch-papers,  and  little  fat  Cupids,  with  their  bows  and 
arrows,  nestling,  or  asleep,  among  bunches  of  lady-delights  ; 
and  I  spent  many  a  long  day  in  copying  maps.  But  I  had 
never  seen  a  good  picture,  in  all  my  life,  nor  what  I  should 
now  call  a  decent  drawing.  Once,  to  be  sure,  when  quite  a 
child,  I  saw  pasted  upon  the  wall,  over  a  shoemaker's  bench, 
a  pen-and-ink  head,  which  delighted  me  beyond  measure.  I 
cared  nothing  for  prints  nor  engravings  ;  but  this  little  affair, 
though  unfinished,  a  mere  outline  at  best.  I  looked  upon  as  a 
marvel.  Judge  of  my  surprise,  when  the  shoemaker,  who  did 
not  value  it  much,  told  me  I  was  welcome  to  it.  I  lost  no 
time  in  taking  possession  of  the  prize,  and  hurrying  off,  lest 
he  might  change  his  mind.  On  reaching  home,  I  went  up 
into  the  garret,  and  there,  seating  myself  on  an  old  leather- 
trunk,  near  a  little  window,  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs, 
went  to  work  and  made  copy  after  copy,  some  of  which  were 
traced,  I  remember,  until  I  had  every  scratch  of  the  pen 
daguerreotyped  upon  my  memory.  This,  I  believe,  was  the 
beginning  of  my  experience  in  art.  Hereafter,  I  may  have 
something  more  to  say  upon  this  part  of  my  education. 

lint  one  thing  I  must  not  overlook,  nor  undervalue  :  from 
my  earliest  recollection,  I  was  a  prodigious  reader.  Nothing 
came  amiss  to  me,  from ''  Bluebeard,"  "  Little  King  Pepin," 
"  Aballino,"  the  great  bandit,  up  to  "  Millot's  General  History," 


SELF-EDUCATION.  109 

"  Curran's  Speeches."  "'•  Plutarch's  Lives."  and  "  Rees's  Cvclo- 
pnedia."  Tin-  first  >><><>l'  I  ever  rrad.  after  the  Bible,  was  "the 
"Arabian  ?Si^ht-:  and  though  I  wa-  utterly  earned  awav  by 
ir.  a-  1  wi-il  remember.  I  have  never  looked  into  it  since. 
Yet  al!  th'j  incidents  are  fre-h  in  my  memory,  and  most  of 
the  characters  and  situation.-.  They  tell  the  story  in 
way  :  and  it  seem-  to  me  now.  that  1  remember  the 
ticular-  mvself.  Mv  mother  wanted  to  iro  somewhere1,  taking 
mv  si>ter  Rachrl  with  her.  for  the  day  :  but  what  on  earth 
should  be  done  with  her  boy?  I  was  just  of  an  auy  —  not 
over  ei^'ht,  or  nine,  at  the  most  —  to  be  very  troublesome, 
if  allowed  to  have  my  own  way:  and  still  more  so.  if  I 
wasn't.  -  Leave  him  with  me."  said  Mrs.  Thankful  Bagley, 
a  verv  pleasant,  kind-hearted  woman,  who  lived  below  in 
My  mother  consented,  and  Mrs.  Bagley 
Arabian  Nights"  to  read.  I  took  it  with 
garret  :  and  when  my  mother  returned 
toward  nightfall,  and  asked  for  me.  Mrs.  Barley  was  obliged 
t<>  own  up.  She  had  not  set  eyes  upon  me  since  morn- 
iii!_r.  I  had  not  come  to  dinner,  and  nobody  knew  where 
to  look  tor  me.  Mv  poor  mother  beii'an  to  feel  uneasy;  but 
when  the  book  was  mentioned,  knowing  my  unappeasable 
appetite  for  all  sort-  of  strange,  out-of-the-way  reading,  she 
went  straight-way  up  to  the  little  garret-window,  where  1  spent 
m<rst  of  my  time,  out  of  school,  and  there  she  found  me  be 
hind  a  trunk,  so  deeply  engaged  in  the  book  before  me,  that 
I  had  not  even  heard  her  step,  nor  the  voices  below  ;  nor 
had  I  eaten  a  mouthful  during  the  day. 

Not  long  after  this,  I  had  got  together  quite  a  library  of 
little  picture-books,  and  a  collection  of  songs  and  verses, 
which  were  the  talk  of  all  the  neighborhood.  Amonsf  these,  I 
remember  Captain  Kyd,  "  when  I  sailed  —  when  I  sailed,"  the 
"  Death  of  Wolf,"  and  a  u  Rose-tree  in  full  bearing."  A  part 
of  these  I  took  with  me  up  into  the  country,  on  a  visit  to  my 
cousins,  where  I  was  persuaded  to  part  with  them  at  cost,  and 
where  they  led  to  a  cruel  mortification,  the  cruelest  I  ever  had 
experienced  at  the  time. 

Soon  after  they  had  bought  me  out,  lock,  stock,  and  bar 
rel —  bob.  line,  and  sinker  —  and  paid  for  them,  leaving 
me  to  replenish  my  store  when  I  returned  to  Portland,  I  dis- 


110  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

covered,  upon  a  table  in  the  darkened  fore-room,  a  huge  tin 
pail,  full  of  honey,  in  the  best  possible  condition  for  a  suscep 
tible  youth,  being  intermixed  with  large  lumps  of  broken 
comb.  One  of  my  cousins,  a  warm-hearted,  generous  girl, 
who  had  always  been  a  special  favorite  with  me,  gaye  me  a  sau- 
cerful.  Two  or  three  days  after  this,  haying  to  pass  the  door 
of  that  banqueting-room  seyeral  times  in  the  day.  my  appetite 
for  honey  grew  unappeasable  ;  and,  taking  my  cousin  aside, 
I  begged  her  to  give  me  some  honey.  She  reddened,  looked 
embarrassed,  and  went  off  to  ask  her  mother ;  on  returning, 
what  think  you  was  her  answer  —  her  answer  to  me,  a  proud, 
sensitive  boy  ?  "  Not  now.  cousin  John,"  said  she  ;  "  but  when 
thee  comes  again,  we'll  give  thee  some  more  money"  —  "  More 
money ! "  said  I,  all  aghast  with  shame  and  mortification, 
"  who  wants  any  of  your  money  ?  —  I  asked  for  honey,  not  for 
money.""  The  poor  girl  was  even  more  to  be  pitied  than  my 
self,  1  do  believe ;  for,  within  five  minutes,  I  was  on  my  way 
home  to  my  mother ;  and,  if  I  can  trust  my  recollection,  was 
never  inside  of  that  house  afterward,  certainly  not  for  many 
a  long  year.  It  was  a  pitiful  business,  I  must  acknowledge. 
It  humbled  me  to  the  dust ;  and  I  have  not  got  over  it,  even  to 
this  day.  Among  all  the  mortifications  I  have  experienced  in 
a  long  life,  and  tiiey  are  neither  few  nor  small,  1  consider  this 
about  the  worst. 

From  picture-hooks  and  verses.  I  went  to  magazines  and 
stories ;  and,  long  before  I  was  twelve,  I  had  accumulated 
quite  a  decent  library,  partly  by  borrowing  and  buying,  and 
partly  by  being  allowed  to  rummage  in  the  old  closets  of  the 
Thrasher  House,  where  "Master  George,"  a  dwarf  who  used  to 
labor  for  Thomas  B.  Waite  and  Co.,  on  a  newspaper  they  pub 
lished —  the  old  ''  Federal  Gazette,"  I  believe  —  had  stowed 
away,  year  after  year,  the  *'  Massachusetts,"  and  other  maga 
zines,  with  pictures  of  eagles,  and  bisons,  and  buffaloes,  and 
that  everlasting  story  of  "  Alexis,  or  the  Cottage  in  the 
Woods,"  which  was  continued  until  I  had  a  wheelbarrow-load 
of  the  numbers  that  contained  it;  and  never  stopped,  I  be 
lieve,  till  I  had  left  this  part  of  the  world,  or  outgrown  such 
diet,  as  children  do  pap ;  and  began  to  give  up  the  sincere 
milk  of  the  word,  for  lions'  meat. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  got  acquainted  with  a  boy  named  George 


SELF-EDUCATION.  Ill 

« 

Reid,  who  kept  shop  for  Thomas  Clark  in  Fisli-Street.  now 
Kxchan<re.  Clark  was  a  bookseller  ami  stationer,  and  kept 
a  larir*-  circulating  lii>rarv,  which  1  read  through  and  through 
—  literal!  v  through  and  through  —  before  I  knocked  off. 
Many  volumes  a  week  did  I  gobble  up.  month  after  month, 
before  1  found  out  that  Ueid  was  taking  advantage  of  me  to 
do  iiis  errands,  without  the  knowledge  of  his  master.  Among 
those  I  now  remember,  as  if  I  had  been  familiar  with  them, 
not  sixty  years  ai:<i.  •  •:•  thereabouts,  but  within  the  last  five 
or  MX  years,  were  "  V\  ii-land,  or  the  Transformation  :  ""Kd«_rar 
Iluntiev.  or  the  Sle>"i  Walker  :  "  ••  (  Irniond.  or  tiie  Secret  Wit- 
ne--  ".  —  all  by  liroi'kdeii  I>rown  ;  "Children  ot  the,  Abbey," 
>•  My-ti'rirs  of'rdoh.ho  :  "  ••  Si.  Ivon  :  "  and  "  Caleb"  Williams." 
bv  ( iod\\  ii:  :  ••  ( ill  1  liver's  Travels."  "  Don  ( Quixote."  "  Roderick 
Random."  "Tom  Jones."  *•  The  Ad  vent  tires  of  a  Guinea  :  "  "  The 
Vicar  of  Wakelield."  and  ••  Paul  and  \  ir^inia."  both  especial 
favorites  of  mine  to  this  dav.  and  both  masterpieces,  like  Un 
dine  ;  "  Cook's  Voyaires."  Rollin's  '•  Ancient  History."  &c.,  &c., 
&c.  :  not  one  of  which  have  I  opened  since,  to  mv  recollection. 
While  at  Master  Moody's  in  Union  Street,  and  before  I 
went  behind  the  counter,  one  of  mv  school-fellows,  whom  I 
have  already  mentioned,  as  having  got  ahead  of  me  in  pen 
manship,  undertook  to  studv  French,  and  I  was  invited  to 
join  a  class  :  but  my  mother  had  no  money  to  waste  in  that 
wav,  and  I  found  it  cheaper  to  make  fun  of  those  who  took 
les-ons,  than  to  take  lessons  myself.  And  here  a  little  inci 
dent  occurs  to  me.  which  I  had  entirely  forgotten,  till  it  was 
brought  to  my  recollection,  by  what  I  have  already  mentioned. 
Amonuf  the  scholars  of  the  Frenchman  were  two  or  three 
daughters,  two  certainly,  of  Thankful  Ilussey,  the  Quaker 
preacher.  They  were  clever  girls ;  and  one  of  the  two, 
Sarah,  had  an  opportunity  of  turning  her  French  to  account, 
by  marrying  Isaac  Winslow.  brother  of  that  Jeremiah  who  in 
troduced  the  whale-fishery  into  France,  and  settling  for  life  in 
Havre.  She  and  her  sister  Comfort  were  many  years  older 
than  I  :  and  both  had  such  a  reputation  for  superior  talent 
and  scholarship,  that  when  they  condescended  to  enter  the 
town-school,  kept  by  Master  Gregg,  some  years  after  he  had 
polished  me  off.  and  set  me  adrift,  he  had  a  storv  to  tell  of 
Sarah,  the  eldest,  which  I  shall  never  forget  ;  chieiiy.  I  dare 


112  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

» 

say,  because  the  good  man  made  such  a  fuss  about  her.  They 
were  called  upon  for  4>  compositions."  The  subject  was 
"  fire."  Sarah's  opened  in  this  way,  word  for  word  :  '•  I  shall 
not  treat  this  chemical  and  philosophical  subject  either  chem 
ically  or  philosophically : "  and  as  neither  chemistry  nor 
philosophy,  intellectual  or  natural,  had  ever  been  thought  of, 
as  a  part  of  our  education,  it  seemed  to  me  no  great  forbear 
ance  on  her  part.  But  Master  Gregg  thought  otherwise,  and 
I  never  shall  forget  the  pride  he  manifested  in  her  scholar 
ship,  on  this  particular  occasion. 

Many  years  after  this,  when  I  had  reached  twenty-five,  I 
undertook  the  study  of  French  in  a  way  of  my  own.  of  which  I 
intend  to  give  an  account  hereafter  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  two 
or  three  years,  made  myself  pretty  well  acquainted  with  French, 
Spanish,  Italian,  Portuguese,  German.  Swedish,  Danish,  be 
side  overhaling  the  Hebrew,  Latin,  Greek,  and  Saxon,  till  I 
could  manage  them  pretty  well  by  the  help  of  a  dictionary 
and  grammar.  At  different  times,  indeed,  I  have  been  able 
to  speak  with  considerable  readiness,  and  to  write  with  ease, 
French,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  German.  So  much  for  this 
part  of  my  education. 

After  a  while.  I  took  to  writing  for  the  newspapers  and 
periodicals,  and  then  to  story-telling  by  the  volume  ;  but,  as  I 
intend  to  give  an  account  of  all  these  doings  hereafter,  I  pass 
them  over  now,  adding  only,  that  I  believe  I  learned  more 
behind  the  counter  than  I  have  ever  learned  since  —  more 
of  mankind,  more  of  myself,  and  more  of  human  nature.  I 
believe  also,  that  we  learn  more  by  teaching,  than  by  study 
ing  ;  and  I  have  always  been  a  teacher  from  my  youth  up, 
and  generally  of  something  useful  —  though  not  always,  I  am 
afraid ;  not  that  I  have  appeared  as  a  school-master,  or  pro 
fessor  ;  but  I  have  taught  fencing,  and  sparring,  and  horseman 
ship,  and  gymnastics,  and  half  a  dozen  languages,  and  all  after 
a  system  of  my  own.  In  this  way  it  is,  that. I  have  succeed 
ed  in  educating  myself — after  a  fashion. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  I  to  William  Gwinn,  of  Baltimore,  soon 
after  I  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar  in  that  city,  "  tell  me, 
I  pray  you,  where  to  find  the  help  I  need  in  practice,  without 
troubling  the  brethren :  are  there  any  books  to  be  had  ? " 
"  Not  a  book,  not  a  page,"  was  the  reply.  "  The  answers  to 


SELF-EDUCATION.  113 

all  the  questions  you  have  put  me.  are  traditional ;  they  have 
never  been  reduced  to  writing."  —  "What,  then,  am  I  to 
do?  v  — k'  Write  a  book  on  the  .subject  !  '  And  i'aith  !  but  for 
my  coming  across  a  tattered  volume  of  Harris's  "  Entries," 
then  whollv  out  of  print.  I  believe.  I  should  have  followed 
his  advice,  and  taught  myself,  by  undertaking  to  teach  others. 

Once,  in  familiar  conversation  with  Jeremy  Bentham.  he 
told  me  of  an  incident  in  his  own  life,  which  I  believed  then, 
and  believe  now.  was  the  real  cause  of  his  abandoning  the 
practice  of  the  law,  after  being  admitted  as  a  barrister,  and 
betaking  himself,  at  once  and  for  ever,  to  the  in'eat  business 
of  law  reform,  lie  was  retained  in  an  important  case,  the 
first  and  the  last  he  ever  meddled  with.  lie  studied  it 
thoroughly- — made  himself  master  of  all  the  facts,  all  the 
reasonings,  and  all  the  authorities,  for  and  against  his  client, 
—  and  went  into  court  "cock  sure."  as  he  termed  it,  with  a 
smile  I  never  shall  forget,  for  his  mouth  trembled  and  his 
heavy  gray  lashes  glistened  at  the  time',  "cock  sure  of  a 
triumphant  issue."  But,  lo  !  after  he  had  got  through,  up  rose 
the  embryo  Lord-Chancellor  Eldon.  Mr.  John  Scott,  and  read 
a  manuscript  case,  which  had  never  been  reported,  and  which 
not  only  overthrew  the.  whole  of  poor  Mr.  Bentham's  learned 
authorities,  but  sent  him  out  of  court.  ••  with  his  tail  between 
his  legs,  and  a  flea  in  his  ear.''  never  to  enter  it  a<jain. 

Just  so  with  many  a  point  of  practice  at  the  Baltimore  bar. 
No  reports  had  appeared  of  the  Nisi  Jirins  decisions  ;  and 
no  two  persons,  learned  in  the  law,  were  ever  able  to  agree 
upon  a  variety  of  trivial  questions  —  trivial  to  the  old  prac 
titioner,  who  miijht  always  bargain  himself  out  of  a  scrape, 
with  his  gray-headed  brethren,  while  the  younger  would  be 
swamped.  But  I  learned  my  trade  nevertheless,  after  going 
through  a  course  of  study  calculated  for  seven  or  eight  years, 
in  less  than  a  year  and  a  half,  including  Hoffman's  Course, 
and  Reeves'  and  Gould's  Lectures  —  of  which  more  hereafter 
^ — and  studying  sixteen  hours  a  day.  like  Sir  Matthew  Hale, 
when  he  entered  Lincoln's  Inn.  But  he  was  only  twenty- 
one,  and  thoroughly  prepared,  by  a  course  of  collegiate  edu 
cation  at  Oxford;  while  1  was  in  my  twenty-sixth  year,  with 
every  thing  to  learn,  and  no  time  to  lose  ;  and  obliged  to  earn 
my  living  by  my  pen,  at  a  time  when  there  were  only  two  or 


114  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

three  editors  employed  in  the  whole  country,  and  the  best  of 
American  books  were  not  worth  publishing,  since  the  best 
English  books  could  be  had  for  nothing,  after  they  had  been 
reviewed  over  sea,  and  their  reputation  was  established,  both 
there  and  here.  Yet  I  did  not  flinch  from  the  trial,  and 
persevered,  until  I  had  gone  through  a  course  of  history, 
languages,  political  economy,  and  miscellaneous  reading,  which 
of  itself  would  have  been  regarded  as  quite  wonderful,  if  I  had 
done  nothing  else. 

In  this  way  it  was,  that  I  managed  to  educate  myself,  and 
without  help  from  any  living  teacher;  and  this  it  is,  which 
has  led  me  to  say  so  much  about  self-education. 

But  I  had  other  things  to  learn.  Studying  sixteen  hours  a 
day,  month  after  month,  and  year  after  year,  and  writing  sixteen 
hours  a  day,  as  I  often  did,  for  months  together,  were  some 
what  dangerous  indulgences.  And  so,  one  evening,  I  tumbled 
out  of  my  chair,  while  driving  away  at  "  Seventy-six,"  I 
believe ;  and  lay,  I  know  not  how  long,  upon  the  floor  of  my 
back  office,  where  I  slept.  On  coming  to  myself,  I  began  to 
feel  my  pulse  before  I  tried  to  get  up :  the  rhythm  was  all  I 
could  wish ;  the  beat  regular  and  emphatic,  soft  and  full,  so 
that  I  had  nothing  to  fear  of  a  serious  nature,  an  affection 
of  the  heart  never  allowing  such  "  healthful  music."  Then  I 
touched  my  lips :  there  was  no  foam  to  trouble  me,  no  sign  of 
epilepsy.  What,  then,  was  the  matter  ?  Syncope,  beyond  all 
question.  I  had  fainted,  —  swooned,  —  from  overwork.  I 
had  tampered  with  one  of  God's  chief  blessings,  I  had  abused 
the  gift  of  health  ;  and  I  saw  at  once  that  1  had  something 
else  to  do  in  this  world,  something  that  I  had  never  thought 
of  before.  I  was  bound  to  take  care  of  myself.  But  who 
was  myself?  and  what?  I  had  never  been  obliged  to  keep 
my  bed  but  once  in  all  my  life,  and  that  was  in  my  boyhood. 
The  doctor,  having  lost  all  patience  with  me,  told  me  I  should 
die :  I  told  him  I  wouldn't ;  and  I  didn't,  —  to  the  best  of  my 
recollection  and  belief.  The  consequence  was,  that  I  had  lo.-t 
sight  of  my  body  altogether,  and  had  now  been  working,  month  - 
after  month,  as  if  I  were  all  brain,  as  if  I  had  no  soul  indeed 
—  nothing  but  an  imperious  will,  and  a  fiery  imagination  to 
deal  with.  But,  thank  God,  I  was  not  forgotten,  I  was  not 
wholly  given  over ;  and,  when  I  came  to  my  senses,  the  first 


SELF-EDUCATION.  115 

thing  I  did,  was  to  put  my  body  through  a  course  of  educa 
tion. 

Meanwhile,  having  found  my  way,  not  onlv  into  the  best 
law  libraries  of  Baltimore,  including  those  of  Professor 
Ilott'man  and  General  Winder,  but  into  the  Athenaeum, 
where  I  rioted,  month  alter  month,  as  the  records  will  show, 
if  they  are  .-till  in  existence,  upon  the  treasures  of  historv, 
political  economy,  and  French  literature,  bcinir  acquainted 
with  no  other  lannuajie  at  the  time,  it  may  wrll  be  supposed 
that  1  had  my  hands  full.  AYriting  for  the  "  Portico."  for  the. 
maixa/ines.  and  for  the  newspapers,  and  turning  out  romances 
and  >torv-books  at  the  rate  of  two  or  three  volumes  a  month, 
to  say  nothing  of  poems  and  plavs.  and  "Allen's  History  of 
the  Devolution."  and  the  ••  Index  to  Xiles'.s  Register,"  a  most 
laboriou-  work,  as  I  hope  to  >how  hereafter.  I  had  little  time 
for  amusement  or  dissipation  :  and  my  leisure  was  therefore 
devoted  to  bodily  exerei-e.  riding,  fencing,  and  sparring. 

In  1s:?.'!.  I  went  abroad,  where  I  continued  the  study  of 
German.  Spanish.  Italian,  and  French,  without  a  master, 
having  acquired  the  pronunciation  before  ;  until  I  found  my 
self  relapsing  into  my  old  habits  of  unreasonable  study,  and 
sitting  up  from  twelve  to  one.  two.  three,  and  even  four  o'clock, 
in  the  morning.  At  last,  my  education  being  well-nigh  finished, 
and  myself  with  it.  I  tumbled  out  of  my  chair  once  more,  at 
dead  of  niirht,  and  lay  long  enough  on  the  floor  to  make  up 
my  mind,  that,  if  this  happened  a  third  time,  I  should  well 
deserve  to  stay  there  till  wanted  by  the  undertaker.  I  was 
rewriting  a  paper  for  "  Blackwood,"  which,  being  unreason 
ably  long  —  too  Ions  for  the  number  it  was  intended  for,  and 
the  longest  that  had  ever  appeared  in  that  magazine  —  had 
been  sent  back  to  me,  not  to  abridge,  or  correct,  but  merely  to 
look  over,  in  season  for  the  next  month,  in  which  it  appeared 
(December.  18*24)  :  but  as  I  never  could  bear  to  let  any  thing 
pass  out  of  my  hand,  without  change  or  emendation,  if  it  fell  in 
my  way.  after  it  had  got  cold.  I  went  to  work  on  this  paper 
as  if  I  had  never  seen  it  before,  and  rewrote  every  syllable 
of  it.  No  wonder"!  fell  out  of  my  chair  ;  for  even  Christopher 
North  declared  in  a  note  which  prefaced  it,  as  a  leader,  that 
every  paragraph  was  an  article  of  itself. 

Here  I  went  through  a  course  of  small-sword,  with  the 


116  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

celebrated  Angelo ;  and  then  of  horsemanship  and  broad 
sword,  with  the  cavalry-exercise  at  the  Kiiightsbridge- bar 
racks;  and  then  of  boxing,  with  Richmond  the  black,  and 
Eales  and  Ellard ;  and  then,  or  simultaneously  rather,  with 
a  course  of  gymnastics,  under  the  training  of  Volker,  who  stood 
six  feet  four,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  though  he  complained,  that, 
being  only  a  seven  months'  child,  he  had  never  been  treated 
fairly,  nor  allowed  to  get  his  growth.  He  was  a  giant,  and, 
in  the  course  of  our  exercises,  nearly  wrenched  me  limb  from 
limb,  with  the  assurance  that  it  "(loot  me  goot,"  and  finally 
thrust  the  end  of  an  unbuttoned  foil  into  my  left  eye,  while 
demonstrating  his  own  awkwardness  with  the  small-sword, 
after  I  had  parried  a  thrust  in  quarte  sur  le  bras.  But  I  de 
served  it :  first,  for  crossing  the  foils  without  a  mask ;  and 
next,  for  allowing  anybody  to  engage  me  without  a  button. 

After  this,  I  took  up  botany ;  and  after  attending  a  course 
of  lectures  by  a  Scotchman,  named  Whitlaw,  who  had  the 
elements  of  the  science  pictured  out  on  transparent  window- 
sliades —  a  capital  idea,  by  the  way  —  I  ransacked  the  whole 
neighborhood  of  London,  with  young  Mill  (John  Stuart 
Mill)  and  Richard  Doane,  the  private  secretary  of  Mr.  Ben- 
tham,  and  others,  until  I  had  become  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  the  flora  of  that  region.  And  so  with  mineralogy  and 
geology  :  I  took  them  up,  as  they  fell  in  my  way.  and.  without 
intending  to  do  so,  succeeded  in  educating  myself  upon  a 
variety  of  subjects,  while  writing  for  most  of  the  magazines, 
and  for  two  or  three  of  the  leading  Quarterlies,  and  preparing 
"  Brother  Jonathan  "  for  the  press. 

Alter  my  return  to  Portland.  I  taught  boxing  and  fencing, 
wrote  largely  for  the  newspapers  and  magazines,  edited  the 
"  Yankee,"  the  "  New-England  Galaxy/'  and  partly  edited,  at 
least,  half  a  dozen  other  leading  newspapers,  and  not  a  few 
magazines,  all  of  which  died  a  natural  death  before  I  had 
done  with  them ;  entered  upon  the  practice  of  law.  not  in 
New  York,  as  1  had  first  intended,  having  ordered  my  library 
there,  and  being  sorely  tempted  by  Mordecai  Manasseh  Noah 
and  others,  to  take  up  my  abode  there,  and  establish  a  Sunday 
paper;  nor  at  New  Orleans,  nor  in  Philadelphia  —  Baltimore 
being  wholly  out  of  the  question  just  then,  because  of  the 
immense  outlay  upon  the  Ohio  Railroad,  whereby  her  whole 


SELF-EDUCATION.  117 

trading  community  seemed  paralyzed  ;  but  in  Portland,  whither 
I  had  come  on  a  visit  to  my  mother  and  sister,  with  no  more 
idea  of  settling  here  than  I  should,  on  the  Isle  of  Shoals,  and 
with  no  more  idea  at  the  time  of  connecting  myself  wiih  a 
newspaper,  even  as  editor,  than  I  had  of  setting  up  a  Cape 
Elizabeth  "Daily  Advertiser."  But  they  undertook  to  say  — 
bless  their  hearts!  —  that  I  should  not  be  allowed  to  settle 
here.  And  so  I  planted  myself  on  the  spot.  and.  after  a  feu- 
personal  explanations,  was  let  alone,  and  re-admitted  to  the 
Cumberland  bar.  and  entered  afresh  upon  mv  career,  as  a 
lawyer. 

From  that  day  to  this,  I  have  been  always  learning  some 
thing  new  ;  and.  so  far  as  I  am  educated  at  all.  I  have 
been  educated  by  circumstances,  and  under  many  and  great 
advantages  ;  for  which  I  devoutly  thank  our  heavenly  Father, 
since  now  I  know  that  most  of  mv  opinions  are  mv  own,  that 
they  have  not  been  adopted  "between  sleeping  and  waking," 
but  "begotten  in  the  lusty  stealth  of  nature."  and  often  after 
a  course  of  gladiatorial  controversy  :  for  which  reason,  they  are 
not  likely  to  be  abandoned  for  slight  causes,  nor  in  obedience 
to  the  fluctuations  and  changes  about  me. 

Under  different  heads  hereafter.  I  hope  to  furnish  other, 
and  perhaps  better  evidence,  that  1  have  not  lived  altogether 
in  vain,  and  that  my  life  has  not  been  a  failure,  though  some 
body  has  thought  proper  to  say  so.  in  one  of  our  cleverest 
magazines,  as  if  upon  my  own  authority.  The  soft  impeach 
ment  I  deny  ;  and  stop  here,  at  least  for  the  present. 


118  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

BUSINESS   OPERATIONS   THROUGH  LIFE. 

PEDDLING  SMALL  WARES:  MANUFACTURE  OF  LOLLIPOP;  SMOOTH  SHAVING; 
TRICKS  OF  TRADE:  DOWNRIGHT  CHEATING:  COUNTERFEIT  MONEY; 
IDLING;  PISTOL  SHOOTING;  PENMANSHIP;  INDIAN  INK.  MINIATURES; 
BOSTON. 

MAY  23,  18G7.  —  Three  whole  months  have  passed  —  nearly 
four,  indeed  —  since  I  have  been  able  to  write  a  line,  except 
in  the  way  of  business.  Meanwhile,  the  two-million  building- 
loan  has  been  authorized  by  the  legislature,  subject  to  the 
decision  of  the  people ;  a  great  mistake,  I  am  afraid,  though 
they  have  decided  in  its  favor,  by  a  handsome  majority,  on  a 
very  small  vote,  which,  of  itself,  were  sufficiently  discourag 
ing,  where  so  much  was  at  stake.  But  so  has  it  ever  been. 
The  people,  taking  it  for  granted  that  a  popular  measure  must 
be  carried,  and  that  their  neighbors  will  do  their  duty,  leave 
the  whole  business  to  them.  We  had  a  narrow  escape  to 
begin  with ;  and  then,  just  as  an  opening  appeared  for  the 
whole  to  be  taken  up  at  once,  on  favorable  terms,  by  the  Bar 
ings,  France  and  Prussia  began  to  threaten  each  other,  and 
all  business  operations  were  suspended,  of  course,  till  the 
question  about  Luxemburg  should  be  settled ;  and  when  that 
was  settled,  or  appeared  to  be  settled,  it  was  too  late  for  the 
negotiations  we  had  entered  upon.  Other  parties  were  in  the 
field ;  and  now  the  constitutionality  of  the  law  is  beginning 
to  be  questioned,  upon  the  ground  that  lawgivers  cannot  dele 
gate  their  powers.  Nevertheless,  Portland  is  going  up ;  and 
all  the  buildings  that  were  got  under  way,  soon  after  the  fire, 
and  up  to  midwinter,  have  been  finished,  with  improvements 
a  hundred  years  in  advance  of  what  they  were  before  the  fire; 
and  most  of  them  are  already  occupied,  and  all  the  rest  will 
be,  within  a  month  ;  while  others  are  going  up,  stores  and 
mansions  and  large  public  buildings,  in  every  part  of  the 
town.  Among  the  latter  are  the  post-office,  the  custom- 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  119 

house,  five  or  six  large  handsome  churches,  and  the  city  gov 
ernment  house  :  to  say  nothing  of  Fort  Gorges,  the  dry 
dock,  and  a  magnificent  hotel. 

And  now.  beinir  once  more  at  leisure,  my  new  houses  and 
the  new  store  being  occupied,  let  me  go  back  to  my  story. 

The  first  business  operation  I  was  ever  engaged  in.  1  have 
already  mentioned.  It  happened,  when  I  was  under  eight,  I 
should  say  :  and  yielded,  with  no  pecuniary  profit,  a  bountiful 
harvest  of  mortification  and  experience.  Had  my  ivqiu'.-t  for 
••  some  lionev "  not  been  misunderstood  for  what  amounted 
substantially  to  -stand  and  deliver!"  I  might  have  gone 
more  largely  into  the  ballad  and  picture-book  business,  and, 
after  a  while,  have  managed  to  turn  an  honest  penny  in  that 
way,  without  venturing  upon  larger  transactions,  till  I  had 
cut.  if  not  my  wisdom-teeth,  at  least  my  eye-teeth. 

Mv  next  undertakings  were  in  the  barter  line,  or  what  has 
been  called  by  others  ••  truck  and  dicker."  I  swapped  toys 
and  trifies  with  my  school-mates,  and  in  every  cast;  but  one, 
so  far  as  I  now  remember,  came  ofi'  with  a  flea  in  my  ear;  in 
other  words,  confoundedly  cheated.  That  one  case  I  dis 
tinctly  remember.  A  little  French  boy  from  the  West  Indies, 
who  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  took  a  decided  fancy 
to  what  there  was  left  of  a  pocket-knife  I  had.  with  a  horn 
handle,  one-half  of  which  had  disappeared.  What  he  <rave 
me  for  it  in  exchange,  whether  money  or  money's  worth,  I  do 
not  now  remember;  though  I  can  still  hear  his  outcries  and 
lamentations,  after  he  had  slept  upon  the  bargain,  and  began 
following  me  whithersoever  I  went,  holding  the  knife  in  one 
hand,  with  the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  and  tapping  it 
with  the  forefinger  of  the  other,  and  screaming  "  No  bone  !  no 
bone!"  meaning,  as  I  then  supposed,  that  he.  wanted  the  rest 
of  the  handle.  That  being  lost.  I  endeavored  to  reason  with 
the  poor  boy  ;  but  as  I  knew  nothing  of  French,  and  he  less 
than  nothing  of  English,  I  did  not  succeed  in  pacifying  him, 
nor  he  in  convincing  me.  He  probably  meant  to  say  that  the 
knife  was  not  good,  no  great  shakes,  in  which  I  might  have 
agreed  with  him,  as  it  certainly  was  not ;  but  instead  of  say 
ing  '•  Pas  bon  !  pas  bon  !  "  which  I  should  have  understood  at 
the  end  of  about  twenty  years,  he  dealt  in  the  patois  of  his 
tribe,  which,  of  course,  helped  to  mislead  me. 


120  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

My  next  adventure,  in  the  way  of  business,  I  must  acknowl 
edge,  had  a  flavor  of  what  would  now  be  called  rather  sharp 
practice.  I  began  to  manufacture  lollipop  —  at  first,  in  small 
quantities,  but  soon  after  by  the  dollar's  worth  ;  retailing  it 
myself  by  the  stick,  or  wholesaling  it  by  the  ninepenny-worth, 
and  thereby  saving  the  profits  both  of  a  jobber  and  middle 
man  ;  using  my  mother's  molasses,  when  there  was  enough  on 
hand,  which  was  not  often,  as  her  purchases  were  always 
made  with  a  half-gallon  jug ;  and  licking  the  boys,  who,  after 
being  trusted,  failed  to  pay  at  the  time  fixed  between  us, 
thereby  saving  lots  of  shoe-leather,  interest  on  capital,  and  all 
the  costs  of  attorneyship.  Sharp's  the  word  !  This  occurred, 
I  should  say,  when  I  was  about  ten. 

But  after  I  took  to  the  counter,  instead  of  the  highway,  as, 
on  the  whole,  somewhat  safer,  if  not  always  the  more  respect 
able,  my  business  tendencies  took  a  new  "  start."  My  mas 
ters,  with  a  view  to  my  encouragement,  I  suppose,  or  perhaps 
to  quicken  my  appetite  for  trade,  as  hawks  are  trained  with 
offal  and  garbage  to  begin  with,  allowed  me  the  privilege  of 
selling  horn  combs,  which  were  manufactured  at  Woodfbrd's 
Corner,  and  went  by  the  name  of  mock-turtle.  They  were 
in  great  demand  :  the  sale  was  steady  ;  and  the  profits,  though 
small,  were  sure ;  and  though  what  I  did  was  in  the  retail 
way,  for  any  sort  of  wholesale  business  might  have  interfered 
with  my  masters,  I  managed  to  lay  up  enough  spending- 
money  for  the  holidays,  without  touching  my  capital,  which 
amounted  at  one  time  to  no  less  than  fourteen  or  fifteen  hun 
dred  —  cents. 

In  addition  to  this  privilege,  I  was  allowed  to  share  in  the 
boxes  and  wrappers  and  cordage,  that  came  round  the  bales, 
with  a  young  man  from  Boston,  who  "  understood  the  ropes  ;  " 
and,  between  us,  we  managed  to  earn  —  we  called  it  earning 
—  I  dare  not  say  how  much,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  but  cer 
tainly  not  less  than  twenty-five  dollars  apiece.  Nor  should 
this  be  wondered  at,  when  we  were  allowed  to  charge  just 
what  we  pleased  for  boxing  and  baling  to  our  country  cus 
tomers  ;  and  had  constantly  before  us  the  example  of  our 
friends  over  sea,  whose  charges  were  so  extravagant  as  to 
astonish  us.  until  we  found  in  them  the  very  justification  we 
needed  for  ourselves. 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  121 

And  here,  two  or  three  little  incidents  of  my  shop-keeping 
life  occur  to  me,  which  may  be  worth  mentioning,  by  way  of 
illustration. 

One  day,  a  fat  Frenchman  wanted  to  look  at  some  panta- 
loon-stufF.  Velvets  and  velveteens  were  the  go  just  then  ; 
and.  while  I  was  trying  to  persuade  him  that  a  drab  corduroy 
was  the  thing,  his  eyes  fell  on  a  piece  of  dark  purple  tabby- 
velvet,  which  he  fastened  upon  with  such  eagerness.  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  tell  him  it  was  not  intended  for  pantaloons. 
That,  and  that  only,  would  he  have  :  and  so,  having  measured 
off  three  yards.  1  attempted  to  tear  it  across,  instead  of  cutting 
with  the  scissors.  In  tearing,  there  happened  to  be  a  coarse 
thread  in  the  way  :  and  off  it  went,  with  a  rip  that  startled 
my  master  at  the  desk,  lengthwise  of  the  roll,  for  about  three- 
quarters  of  a  yard,  but,  luckily  for  my  customer,  not  into  his 
portion  of  the  velvet.  Seeing  him  look  up.  I  huddled  the 
whole  together,  and  threw  the  piece  behind  me,  lest  lie  might 
be  disheartened  if  he  saw  the  rent:  and  giving  him  his  buu- 
dle,  with  the  "  trimmings."'  which  we  used  to  lump,  after  a 
very  profitable  fashion,  so  that  twist,  buttons,  and  lining 
yielded  nearly  as  much  profit  as  the  cloth  itself,  took  his 
money,  and  got  rid  of  him  about  the  quickest.  Some  few 
days  afterward,  he  called  with  a  bundle  under  his  arm.  which 
turned  out  to  be  all  that  remained  of  his  purple  velvet  panta 
loons  :  lie  had  blown  them  all  to  pieces.  I  know  not  how  — 
perhaps  by  trying  to  sit  down  in  a  hurry.  The  poor  fellow 
was  ready  to  burst  with  rage  and  vexation  :  and,  when  I 
reminded  him  that  I  had  recommended  quite  a  different  arti 
cle,  which  we  would  warrant,  he  grew  furious.  I  then  threw 
the  blame  on  the  tailor,  who  ought  to  have  told  him  before  it 
was  too  late  ;  for  how  should  I  know  that  tabby-velvet  panta 
loons  wouldn't  bear  to  be  k>  sneezed  at "  —  or  in  ?  This  appeared 
to  strike  him  favorably,  and,  according  to  my  present  recollec 
tion,  he  set  off  in  search  of  the  tailor,  before  Messrs.  Munroe 
and  Tuttle,  my  masters,  had  time  to  interfere,  and  that  was 
the  last  we  saw  of  him. 

At  another  time  —  and  these  were  the  transactions  that 
made  me  so  necessary  to  my  good  masters,  and  served  to  dis 
tinguish  rne  for  shop-keeping  smartness,  at  the  very  outset  of 
my  career  —  at  another  time,  the  elder  of  my  two  principals, 


122  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Tilly  Merrick  Munroe,  was  trying  to  sell  a  black  Barcelona 
handkerchief  to  a  backwoodsman,  with  a  beard  like  a  carding 
machine.  He  was  afraid  his  '•  baird"  as  he  called  it,  passing 
his  hand  over  his  chin,  as  if  it  hurt  him,  would  be  too  much 
for  the  Barcelona,  if  he  didn't  shave  at  least  every  day. 
"  All  a  mistake,"  said  I,  interfering,  as  I  had  no  business  to 
do,  "  all  a  mistake,  sir.  If  you  buy  that  handkerchief,  you'll 
never  want  shaving  again."  This  was  a  little  too  much  for 
my  masters.  They  tried  to  keep  their  countenances,  and 
smother  a  laugh  ;  but  in  vain.  And  when  they  had  recovered 
their  self-command,  it  was  too  late.  I  had  seen  the  effect,  and 
the  countryman  had  vanished ;  so  that  we  lost  the  sale  of  the 
Barcelona,  which  he  had  begun  to  believe  beard-proof,  double 
twilled,  with  "  two  knocks  in  the  weaving." 

But  the  laugh  was  not  always  in  my  favor,  nor  quite  so 
flattering  at  other  times :  for  one  day,  in  my  hurry  to  explain 
what  I  regarded  as  deplorable  misbehavior  in  a  fellow-clerk, 
who  had  been  playing  the  mischief  with  a  lot  of  new  ribbons, 
by  suffering  them  to  unroll  in  a  drawer,  till  they  might  have 
filled  a  peck-measure,  I  spoke  of  them  as  a  great  tangled 
mass,  a  pile,  in  fact,  as  large  as  "  both  of  my  heads ; "  and, 
when  there  was  a  laugh  all  about  me,  corrected  myself  by 
saying,  u  As  large  as  my  two  heads,  I  mean  "  —  a  blunder  only 
to  be  matched  by  the  Irish  editor,  who,  under  the  head  of 
errata,  said,  "  For  her  Grace  the  duke,  please  read  his  Grace 
the  duchess." 

Another  achievement  just  occurs  to  me,  which  I  shouldn't 
like  to  forget.  I  had  an  uncle  David,  who  was  reckoned 
among  the  sharpest  and- shrewdest  of  our  customers.  He 
used  to  laugh  at  me,  when  I  was  setting  a  trap  for  others  ; 
and  the  roguish  twinkle  of  his  eyes,  I  never  shall  forget,  the 
first  time  I  ever  tried  *'  my  'prentice  hand  on  him  ; "  but  I 
succeeded  at  last,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  bait  a 
trap  with  his  own  fingers. 

There  had  slowly  accumulated  in  our  back  shop  a  large 
box  of  remnants,  which  we  wanted  to  be  rid  of.  There  were 
bits  of  calico,  and  copper-plate,  or  furniture-patch,  with  the 
fag-ends  of  cassimere,  calamanco  (caliinink),  and  corduroy, 
and  fearnought,  and  grogram,  and  faded  waistcoating ;  all 
sorts  of  worthless  rubbish  indeed.  Occasionally,  he  had 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  123 

seen  me  overhauling  the  pile,  and  favoring  customers  with  a 
prodigious  bargain  ;  and  at  last  he  began  teasing  and  banter 
ing  me.  till  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  So  I  tumbled  the  whole 
out  on  the  floor,  and  stumped  him  to  make  me  an  offer.  But 
no:  there  was  nothing  there  he  wanted;  and  he  had  no  idea 
of  buying  a  pig  in  a  poke.  Yet.  as  I  seemed  so  much  in 
earnest,  he  would  consent  to  indulge  me  so  far  as  to  set  his 
own  value  upon  the  trash,  measuring  all  the  remnants,  article 
by  article,  and  then  make  me  an  offer  for  the  whole.  Agreed. 
80  to  work  we  went,  he  appraising  everv  fragment,  as  he 
lugged  it  forth,  and  I  measuring  it  honestly  —  for  his  eye  was 
upon  me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  "give  thumbs"  —  and  then  set 
ting  it  down  (is  honestly,  and  lor  the  same  reason,  till  I  had 
chalked  down  a  column  of  figure's,  on  the  partition,  a  foot  or 
two  long.  These  he  undertook  to  add  up  for  himself.  I  did  not 
interfere,  but  kept  aloof  until  he  had  finished,  when  I  saw  at 
a  glance,  though  standing  a  good  way  off  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake  of  ten  dollars  against  himself.  Then  came  the  offer, 
with  a  chuckle;  which  1  accepted,  with  another;  taking  care 
to  rub  out  the  figures,  while  we  were  finishing  up  the  busi 
ness,  with  a  laugh,  lest  he  might  be  tempted  to  review  them. 
I  think  he  had  some  suspicion  of  my  purpose,  though  he 
would  never  own  it ;  for  I  well  remember  the  startled  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance,  as  I  wiped  off  the  figures  with  a  sin 
gle  sweep  of  my  arm.  so  far  at  least  as  to  derange  the  column, 
and  put  a  stop  to  any  proposed  verification.  Many  years 
after  this,  I  told  my  good  uncle  the  truth  :  he  was  a  Quaker, 
and,  on  the  whole,  seemed  rather  pleased  with  my  smartness, 
though  I  do  not  remember  that  he  laughed  outright ;  for  his 
children  were  about  him,  and  he  had  just  been  bragging  about 
his  own  cleverness.  No  wonder  the  temptation  was  too 
much  for  me  ;  and  that  I  lost  no  time  in  showing  that  the 
smart  uncle  had  a  smarter  nephew. 

We  had  other  tricks  of  the  trade,  which  now  begin  to  crowd 
upon  my  recollection.  We  used  to  sell  India-cottons  bv  the 
piece,  for  example;  and  when  they  fell  short  a  yard  or  two, 
we  comforted  the  purchaser,  by  assuring  him.  that,  although 
thev  came  for  twelve  yards,  it  was  an  advantage  for  him  to 
have  them  actually  measure  but  ten  and  a  half,  or  eleven 
yards,  because  they  all  weighed  alike. 


124  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

All  our  prints,  or  calicoes.  a>  they  were  then  called,  were 
marked  up.  when  sold  by  the  piece,  either  half  a  yard  or  three- 
quarters.  In  England,  they  were  always  reckoned  twenty- 
eight  yards,  but  would  overrun  from  one  fourth  to  three-fourths 
of  a  yard,  and  sometimes  a  whole  yard.  With  broadcloths 
and  cassimeres  and  woollens  generally,  when  sold  by  the  piece, 
it  was  the  same.  The  leads  were  always  marked  up  from 
one-fourth  of  a  yard  to  a  yard,  sometimes  by  altering  the 
fraction,  and  sometimes  by  adding,  as  the  case  might  require. 
Pins  went  up  from  number  two,  to  two  and  a  half,  from  num 
ber  three,  to  three  and  a  half,  and  from  number  four,  to  four 
and  a  half. 

It  was  an  established  principle  with  us,  no  matter  what  was 
wanted,  always  to  show  the  poorest  first,  thereby  enhancing 
the  best  by  comparison  ;  to  keep  the  windows  and  doorway  so 
dark,  partly  by  hanging  shawls  and  other  showy  goods  both 
inside  and  out,  and  partly  by  painting  the  back  windows,  that 
people  were  often  astonished  at  their  bargains,  after  they 
had  got  back  to  their  own  houses ;  not  only  the  quality,  but 
the  very  color  of  their  purchases,  undergoing  a  change  for  the 
worse. 

Another  charming  trick  we  had  —  or  rather  some  of  us 
had ;  for  the  boys  were  not  allowed  to  understand  these  deli 
cacies  of  trade.  To  show  the  fineness  of  a  linen,  or  of  a  linen 
cambric,  we  used  to  draw  it  over  our  finger,  and  wet  it  with 
our  tongues.  This,  tending  to  show  how  much  finer  it  would 
be  after  the  stiffening  was  out,  seldom  failed  to  satisfy  even 
pretty  good  house-keepers.  And  another,  and  the  worst  of 
all  I  now  remember,  was  this.  The  whole  country  was  del 
uged  with  counterfeit  money  ;  ten  per  cent,  I  should  say,  of  all 
that  was  in  circulation  was  absolutely  worthless ;  being  either 
counterfeit,  or  the  floating  issue  of  broken  banks,  like  the 
Farmers' -Exchange  Bank,  of  Massachusetts.  Of  course,  with 
shop-boys  and  inexperienced  clerks,  it  was  no  easy  matter  for 
a  business-man  to  escape  ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that,  after 
a  little  time,  it  became  a  sort  of  settled  maxim,  that,  if  you 
buy  the  devil,  the  sooner  you  sell  him,  the  better.  In  our 
establishment,  all  such  moneys,  whether  counterfeit,  or  only 
questionable,  were  always  put  back  into  the  till;  and,  though 
nothing  was  ever  said  to  me  on  the  subject,  it  was  understood 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  12o 

that  I  had  charge  of  the  circulation,  or  re-issue  :  I  being  the 
youngest,  and  l>v  far  the  most  innocent-looking,  with  my  blue 
eves,  golden  hair,  and  Quaker  bob-coat.  And  so  little  sense 
of  shame  had  I.  that,  for  a  long  while,  it  was  my  pride  and 
boast,  that  I  never  failed  in  putting  off  a  bad  bill,  once  com 
mitted  to  mv  charge  ;  often  pa>sing  it  to  another  person, 
while  some  one  who  had  just  returned  it.  was  in  the  shop. 
And,  what  is  vry  strange.  I  do  not  believe  that  we  ever  lost 
a  customer  by  such  a  procedure;  it  being  my  practice,  at 
least,  whatever  others  might  do.  always  to  take  the  bad  bill  back, 
without  hesitation  or  delay,  and  give  a  good  one  for  it,  upon 
the  positive  assurance  of  the  party,  that  she  could  not  be  mis 
taken,  and  that  she  was  sure  she  had  it  of  me  —  I  say  she,  be 
cause  we  found  it  easier  and  safer  to  cheat  women  than  men  — 
and  often  sending  her  away,  with  tears  of  thankfulness  in  her 
eyes,  and  securing  a  customer  for  life.  AVas  it  not  abomina 
ble  ! —  and  yet.  as  I  have  said  before,  I  felt  no  sense  of 
shame  or  self-reproach,  no  "compunctious  visitings  of  con 
science;"  but  went  on  for  a  long  while,  as  horse-jockeys  do, 
when  they  sell  a  brother  a  horse  with  a  glass  eye,  and  take 
the  first  opportunity  of  acknowledging  it.  over  their  wine;  or 
as  lawyers  do.  when  they  obtain  a  verdict  against  law  and 
evidence,  and  are  patted  on  the  back  by  bench  and  bar,  for 
their  ingenuity  and  cleverness. 

Cxan  it  be  wondered  at,  if,  long  before  I  had  finished  my 
apprenticeship,  I  was  in  a  fair  way  of  landing  at  last  in  the 
penitentiary?  From  untruthfulness,  and  misrepresentation, 
and  concealment.  I  had  gone  on,  step  by  step,  with  the  ap 
probation  of  my  masters  and  companions,  until  I  found  it  a 
good  joke  to  cheat,  both  in  price  and  measure,  and  to  pass 
counterfeit -money  upon  the  ignorant  and  helpless.  And 
when  at  last  I  forebore,  it  was  not  owing  to  remorse  of  con 
science,  or  shame,  or  to  any  thing  that  resembled  true  repent 
ance  ;  but  simply  to  the  fact.  that,  as  my  business  enlarged, 
in  after  life.  I  got  above  cheating  and  lying  in  a  small  way, 
and  did  what  I  did,  after  a  wholesale  fashion  ;  selling  bales 
of  blankets,  for  example,  by  false  invoices,  and  marking  them 
up,  to  correspond  with  my  misrepresentations. 

Not  long  after  this,  within  eighteen  months,  or  two  years, 
at  furthest,  my  masters  failed  ;  and  I  was  thrown  out  of  em- 


126  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ployment.  The  times  were  critical.  We  had  gone  through 
with  non-importation,  non-intercourse,  and  with  the  embargo, 
and  all  its  changes,  only  to  feel  that  the  worst  was  to  come ; 
for  if'Mr.  Jefferson's  policy  should  prevail,  and  England  should 
continue  to  impress  our  seamen,  it  was  evident  enough,  that, 
sooner  or  later,  we  should  have  war,  and  war  to  the  knife. 

While  out  of  business,  for  with  so  little  to  do,  that  I  could 
hardly  keep  myself  awake,  in  the  office  my  employers  had 
taken  for  settling  up  the  concern,  and  before  "I  well  knew 
what  I  was  doing,  I  found  myself  haunting  bowling-alleys, 
and  passing  whole  afternoons  at  Ma'am  Cutter's,  three  miles 
out  of  town,  or  up  at  Moody's,on  the  hill,  or  loitering  about 
Clay-cove,  where  I  got  a  lesson  at  last,  which  set  me  think 
ing,  and  saved  me.  I  do  believe  in  my  heart,  from  becoming 
a  gambler  ;  but  of  all  this,  hereafter. 

Again,  I  took  up  with  reading,  and  with  drawing,  and 
painting  in  water-colors,  just  to  keep  myself  out  of  mischief; 
and  with  pistol-shooting,  in  which  I  became  such  a  proficient, 
that  I  couldn't  be  sure  of  hitting  a  barn-door  at  fifteen  paces, 
owing  to  the  fact,  which  I  found  out  fifteen  or  twenty  years 
later  in  life,  that  I  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  shutting 
up  the  wrong  eye.  though  I  had  made  one  marvellous  shot, 
when  a  boy  of  thirteen,  which  gave  me  a  character  I  have 
always  been  sorry  for,  from  that  day  to  this,  arid  made  me 
unwilling  to  hazard  my  reputation  among  those  who  knew 
me.  A  number  of  full-grown  men  were  gathered  in  a  large 
yard,  just  back  of  the  old  post-office,  at  the  head  of  Exchange- 
Street,  firing  ''pools."  A  ship's  figure-head  of  the  largest  size 
had  been  set  up  at  a  distance  of,  say  fifteen  or  twenty  paces, 
with  a  card,  the  ace  of  clubs,  nailed  upon  the  breast.  I  was 
among  the  bystanders,  and  ventured  to  laugh  —  with  a  know 
ing  air,  I  dare  say  —  at  the  wild  shooting  I  saw.  I  was  ordered 
off,  for  my  impertinence ;  but  a  gentleman  who  stood  near 
took  my  part,  and  asked  me  if  I  thought  I  could  do  better. 
"  I'll  try,"  was  the  answer  I  gave,  years  before  Miller  gave 
the  same  answer,  when  asked  if  he  could  carry  that  battery 
at  Lundy's  .Lane — and  carried  it.  Just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  somebody  handed  me  a  brass  pistol,  about  seven  inches 
long,  with  a  bell-muzzle,  and  a  lock  on  top.  I  blazed  away, 
and  struck  the  spot  in  the  card,  to  my  unspeakable  astonish- 


BUSINESS     OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  127 

ment :  and  then  walked  off.  notwithstanding  their  urgent 
solicitations,  a?  if  what  I  had  done  was  a  tiling  of  course,  and 
that  I  had  begun  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  company.  But,  fur 
thermore.  — 

One  day.  when  T  was  trying  my  hand  through  the  back 
door  of  William  Freeman's  oilice.  which  my  masters  had 
hired  for  a  counting-room,  into  a  large  lot  in  the  rear,  upon 
which  Woodman  *\:  Co.  are  now  building  a  block  of  magnifi 
cent  stores,  a  singular  incident  occurred,  which,  if  it  had  not 
happened  to  myself.  I  should  not  believe,  without  many  grains 
of  allowance,  though  the  witnesses  were  under  oath.  I  had 
just  sent  a  bov  for  some  powder.  As  he  entered  the  front 
door,  my  pistol  exploded,  and  I  fell,  as  he  described  it,  like  a 
loir  of  wood  tipped  over  standing,  and  struck  my  forehead  flat 
on  the  arm  of  a  lar<jfe  chair,  and  split  the  bottom,  which  was 
of  thick  two-inch  plank  !  There's  tor  you  !  what  d've  think 
of  that?  —  and.  what  may  seem  still  stranger,  without  break 
ing  the  skin,  or  leaving  a  mark  upon  my  forehead.  Perhaps 
the  blow  may  help  explain  some  of  the  eccentricities  of  my 
after  life,  in  the  judgment  of  others.  The  fact  was,  that, 
overcome  by  the  heat  and  the  noise.  I  had  fainted,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  though  I  have  since  had  half  a  dozen, 
trials  of  the  same  sort. 

But  to  return.  After  a  long  while,  so  long,  indeed,  that  I 
wonder  now  at  myself,  when  I  think  of  the  danger  I  was  in, 
and  of  the  temptations  that  beset  me  on  every  side,  and  how 
1  longed  for  something  to  do  —  something,  I  cared  little  what, 
so  that  I  could  be  earning  my  bread,  and  not  living  on  my 
poor  mother  —  she  got  me  a  place  at  forty  dollars  a  year,  with 
board  and  washing  —  nothing  was  said  about  mending,  to  my 
knowledge  —  in  the  store  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Willis,  father  of 
William  Willis,  the  annalist  of  Portland.  There  I  remained 
one  whole  year,  working  early  and  late,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  and  learning  many  new  tricks  of  the  trade;  Mr.  Willis 
dealing  in  West-India  goods  and  groceries,  and  country  produce, 
as  well  as  in  dry-goods  from  all  parts  of  the  world  :  for  exam 
ple,  how  to  convert  a  hogshead  of  old  Jamaica  or  Santa  Cruz, 
into  a  hogshead  and  a  half,  or  thereabouts,  by  rolling  it  back  and 
forth  between  the  store  and  a  town-pump  that  stood  just  in  front 
of  the  old  city-hall  ;  and  how  to  give  Spanish  brandy  the  flavor 


128  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  cognac,  by  charging  it  with  burnt  sugar.  On  the  whole, 
however,  the  year  I  spent  in  Mr.  Willis's  store  was  of  great 
advantage  to  me.  In  the  first  place,  it  kept  me  busy,  and  out 
of  mischief;  and  in  the  next,  as  goods  were  high,  and  grow 
ing  higher  every  day,  it  obliged  me  to  economize,  and  manage 
in  every  possible  way  to  make  both  ends  meet,  which  I  did, 
nevertheless,  and  should  have  done,  had  my  wages  been  less, 
and  goods  higher.  For,  mark  you,  I  had  stipulated  for  myself, 
without  consulting  my  good  mother,  who  had  never  kept  shop, 
that  I  was  to  have  what  goods  I  wanted  for  myself,  at  cost. 
Now,  Mr.  Willis  used  to  buy  all  his  goods  at  auction  for  cash, 
and  was  the  first  of  our  Portland  traders  who  ever  went 
beyond  Boston  for  supplies.  Most  of  his  purchases  were 
made  in  New  York ;  and  he  would  often  buy  a  lot  of  mer 
chandise  of  many  different  qualities  at  one  price,  "  all  round." 
Of  course,  therefore,  if  I  happened  to  take  a  fancy  to  any  of 
these,  the  cost  was  always  the  average  as  marked  on  the  tally. 
In  this  way,  I  got  my  clothing  for  half-price  at  the  most,  and 
often  for  less.  Then,  again,  I  always  bargained  with  my  boot 
maker  and  tailor  to  take  their  pay  out  of  the  shop.  What 
ever  they  had,  therefore,  I  charged  to  myself  at  cost ;  and  if 
they  happened  to  take  a  little  more  than  just  enough  to  pay 
their  bills,  I  charged  myself  with  the  goods,  and  the  balance 
of  cash  went  into  my  pocket,  of  course,  which  I  accounted  for 
at  cost.  In  this  way,  my  forty  dollars  a  year  I  found  to  be 
quite  sufficient  for  my  clothing,  though  I  dressed  handsomely, 
and  came  off  with  flying  colors  at  the  end  of  the  year ;  hav 
ing  one  good  suit  for  special  occasions,  and  another  quite 
passable  for  every  day,  with  nothing  showy  or  superfluous. 

But  this  could  not  last.  Business  grew  worse  and  worse, 
and  so  did  I ;  and,  at  the  end  of  my  first  year,  I  was  cut 
adrift,  and,  for  a  while,  went  back  to  my  studies,  taking  care  to 
fall  into  no  bad  habits,  and  to  keep  clear  of  bad  company. 
This  saved  me.  At  last,  I  was  invited  to  take  charge  of  a 
counting-room  on  Long-Wharf,  where  Mr.  Charles  Atherton, 
once  of  the  firm  of  Atherton,  Poor,  and  Cram,  was  trying  to 
settle  up  the  affairs  of  that  house.  There  I  stayed  —  most 
unwillingly,  I  acknowledge,  though  Mr.  Atherton  was  one  of 
the  most  liberal  and  gentlemanly  men  I  ever  knew  —  because 
I  had  nothing  to  do,  and  I  did  it,  until  he  found  he  could  do 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  129 

better  without  help,  in  that  kind  of  business:  our  whole  stock 
in  trade  consisting  of  a  few  bolts  of  Russia-duck,  and  an  old 
sail  or  two.  with  an  occasional  supply  of  West-India  preserves 
from  a  captain  or  two  in  his  employ,  which  1  used  to  tap  for 
my  amusement.  Here  I  was  guilty  of  an  oversight  one  day, 
which  might  have  been  serious.  1  know  not  how  it  happened. 
On  going  down  to  the  "office."  one  morning,  I  found  the  outer 
door  open,  and.  on  looking  round,  two  or  three  bolts  of  duck 
missing.  I  took  it  for  granted  that  the  store  had  been 
broken  into,  and  might  have  continued  in  that  belief  to  this 
day,  but  for  a  neighbor,  who  called  to  say  that  the  duck  was 
all  safe  in  his  counting-room  :  that  he  had  found  the  door  open 
after  nightfall,  and  that,  first  abstracting  enough  merchandise 
to  operate  as  a  wholesome  warning,  he  had  locked  the  door, 
or  fastened  it  in  some  way.  Of  course.  I  felt  ashamed  and 
mortified,  and  had  nothing  to  say  ;  though  to  this  hour.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  understand  how  it  happened.  Perhaps  I 
had  left  the  door  unbolted,  and  the  wind  (or  somebody  else) 
had  blown  it  open. 

Again  I  was  adrift,  for  two  or  three  months,  during  which 
time,  I  read  with  great  diligence  almost  every  thing  that  fell  in 
my  way;  but  in  season  for  the  fall  trade  of  1810  —  if  I  do 
not  mistake  —  when  I  had  just  passed  my  seventeenth  birth 
day,  my  uncle,  James  Neal.  managed  to  secure  me  employ 
ment  with  Mr.  George  Hill,  from  Portsmouth,  X.IL.  who  had 
come  to  Portland  with  a  view  to  retail-business  in  the  dry- 
goods  line.  He  had  secured  a  store  in  Muzzey's  Row,  just 
fronting  the  head  of  Union  Street,  and  was  looking  about  for 
a  stray  clerk,  when  my  good  uncle,  who  knew7  something 
of  his  partner,  Mr.  James  Rundlet,  of  Portsmouth,  N.H., 
mentioned  me  ;  and  an  arrangement  was  soon  entered  into 
between  us,  which  continued,  until,  at  the  end  of  two  years,  I 
ran  off  with  a  writing-master,  who  had  captivated  me:  first, 
by  his  magnificent  penmanship  and  gentlemanly  manners  ;  and 
next,  by  promising  me  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  my 
travelling  expenses,  if  I  would  go  into  business  with  him,  in 
teaching  a  system  of  penmanship  in  twelve  lessons. 

While  in  the  employment  of  Mr.  Hill,  I  took  it  into  my 
head  that  I  must  have  a  peep  at  Boston.  A  school-fellow- 
had  gone  there  to  settle,  and  he  used  to  dress  so  fashionably, 

9 


130  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

and  tell  such  big  stories  about  the  place,  that  I  couldn't  sleep 
o'  nights.  Mr.  Hill,  with  whom  I  was  always  on  the  best  of 
terms,  up  to  the  very  last  hour  of  my  service  with  him,  tried 
to  discourage  me ;  but  I  persisted,  and.  after  a  while,  he  con 
sented  to  spare  me  for  a  short  trip,  giving  me  an  order  for  a 
supply  of  goods,  by  way.  as  I  have  always  thought,  of  secur 
ing  my  return  —  as  we  tie  a  string  to  the  leg  of  a  bird  we  are 
afraid  of  losing,  after  it  has  been  allowed  to  try  its  wings  in 
the  open  air.  My  purchases  were  satisfactory,  and,  in  time, 
profitable  ;  though  I  got  shamefully  swindled  by  a  jobber  in 
State  Street,  of  whom  I  bought  a  trunk  of  blue  prints  at 
twenty-five  cents  a  yard  for  bait,  nothing  of  the  sort  having 
then  been  heard  of;  though,  within  a  few  years,  much  better 
goods  of  our  own  manufacture  have  been  sold  at  retail  for 
less  than  half  that  price.  The  jobber  sold  them,  I  dare  say, 
without  any  profit,  as  we  retailed  them  afterwards  at  the  cost. 
But  he  made  up  for  the  loss  to  himself,  by  withholding  a  cou 
ple  of  pieces  of  black  crape,  which  I  left  with  him  to  pack, 
and  which  he  never  accounted  for,  worth  over  thirty  dollars 
at  the  time,  if  I  remember  aright ;  so  that,  after  all,  the  knave 
succeeded  in  getting  twenty-seven  cents  for  the  very  calicoes 
he  sold  me  at  twenty-five  cents.  This  transaction,  being  a  little 
out  of  my  way,  had  a  marvellous  effect  upon  my  business-no 
tions,  quickening  my  watchfulness,  and  sharpening  my  faculties 
for  life. 

One  little  story  they  tell  of  me,  while  I  was  behind  Mr. 
Hill's  counter,  being  not  only  characteristic,  but  substantially 
true,  may  be  worth  mentioning  here.  In  warm  weather,  I 
used  to  sit  by  a  large  open  window,  hung  with  shawls,  furni 
ture-patch,  and  muslin  drapery.  One  day,  quite  a  gathering 
took  place  on  the  sidewalk,  within  reach  of  my  hand,  of  young 
and  pretty  girls,  the  flowers  of  the  season.  They  fell  into 
conversation  about  the  new  goods,  the  fashions,  and  the  boys 
—  myself  among  .the  number.  Just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of 
signifying  that  they  were  overheard,  one  of  them  proposed 
to  pay  me  a  visit.  To  this,  the  others  assented  with  great 
eagerness.  But  what  should  they  ask  for?  Some  pro 
posed  one  thing,  some  another.  Would  it  do  to  ask  for  pat 
terns  ? —  but  that  was  so  common.  Before  they  had  quite 
made  up  their  minds,  I  whispered,  just  loud  enough  to  be 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  131 

heard  by  the  nearest.  "  Ask  for  pink  kid  gloves."  For  a 
moment  they  looked  at  one  another,  as  it'  wondering  which 
had  suggested  the  inquiry  :  but  the  next,  a  halt-suppressed 
giggle  from  within  bet  raved  the  secret.  A  scream  followed  ; 
and  away  they  scampered,  as  if  the  dogs  were  after  them. 

After  leaving  Mr.  Hill,  not  so  much  because  of  the  live 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  instead  of  eighty,  and  my  board,  or 
because  of  my  admiration  for  the  wonderful  penmanship  of 
my  friend  Rockwell,  as  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  world,  I 
went  into  the  business  of  teaching  penmanship:  first,  as  a  co 
partner,  at  Bath  and  Brunswick;  and  then,  as  I  found  him  un 
trustworthy,  and  a  downright  adventurer,  on  my  own  ac 
count.  This  led  me  to  Portsmouth,  N.I  I.,  where  I  put  up 
my  specimens,  advertised,  and  tried  to  obtain  a  class  in  writ 
ing,  but  in  vain  ;  so  that  I  was  in  a  sad  way  for  a  time,  and 
almost  ready  to  hang  myself.  But  Mr.  Rundlet.  who  knew 
something  of  my  business  capacity,  and  thought  well  of  me, 
made  me  an  otter,  though  we  were  in  the  midst  of  war,  and 
there  was  little  or  nothing  to  do  ;  no  goods  to  be  had,  and 
very  few  to  be  sold.  One  reason  he  gave,  after  we  had  got 
well  acquainted,  was  this.  He  was  in  his  brother-in-law's 
store  at  Portland  one  day.  when  a  countryman  came  in,  to 
pay  for  something  he  had  bought  of  us.  not  long  before.  I 
asked  his  name,  and  went  to  the  books  ;  but  nothing  was  to 
be  found  there.  Of  whom  had  he  purchased  the  article? 
He  could  not  remember. — looking  first  at  me.  and  then  at 
Mr.  Hill  ;  but  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  bought  it  of  some- 
bodv  in  that  store.  To  satisfy  the  man,  I  proposed  to  take 
the  money,  and  give  him  a  receipt  for  it,  so  that,  if  there 
should  be  a  mistake,  it  might  be  rectified.  This,  it  appeared, 
made  a  great  impression  on  Mr.  Rundlet,  who  was  a  liberal, 
kind-hearted,  old-fashioned  business-man. 

AVith  him.  I  stayed  another  year,  at  the  end  of  which  time, 
he  had  nothing  for  me.  nor  for  auybodv  else,  to  do ;  the 
chief  business  he  did  being  that  of  a  deputy-commissary  for 
Mr.  John  Langdon,  who  was  at  work,  day  after  .day,  and 
month  after  month,  scouring  the  whole  country  for  blankets 
and  blue  plains ;  articles  which  were  not  made  anywhere  on 
this  side  of  the  water,  at  the  time,  so  that  we  had  to  depend 
upon  our  captures  at  sea,  for  clothing  our  troops,  and  some- 


132  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

times  upon  smugglers,  who  lined  our  whole  northern  frontier, 
and  all  our  eastern  seaboard.  At  one  time,  it  paid  well  for  a 
free-trader  to  smuggle  a  cargo  of  British  manufactures,  and 
then  inform  against  himself,  and  take  half  the  proceeds,  in 
due  course  of  law. 

After  leaving  Portsmouth,  I  went  back  to  my  mother's, 
and  hung  up  my  fiddle  for  two  or  three  months,  trying,  mean 
while,  to  get  employment:  first,  as  a  schoolmaster,  that  propen 
sity  running  in  our  blood,  both  on  my  father's  and  my  mother's 
side ;  and  then  as  a  writing-master.  But  all  my  endeavors 
were  to  no  purpose.  I  did  not  get  the  school  I  wanted  at 
Sacarappa  village,  and  I  bagged  only  one  scholar  in  penman 
ship,  and  that  was  a  Yorkshire  woman,  "  fat,  fair,  and  forty," 
who  had  never  had  a  pen  in  her  fingers,  till  she  undertook 
it  with  me.  But  she  succeeded  —  and  so  did  I ;  for  I  got 
her  five  dollars,  and  she  the  cramp  in  her  fingers,  which  her 
husband  translated  into  a  signature. 

But  I  could  not  stand  this.  I  durst  not  be  idle ;  I  was 
afraid  of  myself;  my  clothes  were  beginning  to  drop  off,  and 
my  little  money  to  disappear,  like  "fairy  gifts  fading  away;" 
so  that,  if  I  did  not  bestir  myself,  1  saw  that  "  leaves  "  would 
soon  be  all  I  should  have  left.  And  therefore,  one  day,  late 
in  the  fall  of  1813,  I  jumped  into  an  open  sail-boat,  when  a 
British  man-of-war  was  lying  on  and  off  our  harbor,  and  we 
were  threatened  with  another  visitation,  like  that  of  Mo  watt 
in  1776,  on  account  of  the  "Boxer  "and  "  Enterprise,"  and  went 
to  Hallowell,  where  I  began  life  anew  as  a  writing-master 
and  drawing-master,  taking  Indian-ink  miniatures,  when  I 
got  a  chance,  for  three  dollars  a  head,  and  giving  lessons  in 
water-colors,  without  understanding  the  first  principles  of  the 
art.  But  I  succeeded  nevertheless,  and,  iu  the  month  of  July 
following,  found  myself  in  possession  of  about  two  hundred 
dollars,  more  or  less,  by  practising  upon  the  good  nature  of 
Hallowell,  Augusta,  Waterville,  and  Norridgwock,  after  a 
fashion  the  inhabitants  will  never  forget,  or  forgive. 

At  the  end  of  this  time,  happening  to  find  myself  in 
Hallowell  once  more,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  an  adver 
tisement,  in  a  Boston  paper,  for  a  clerk  in  a  wholesale  and 
retail  dry-goods  establishment ;  "  inquire  of  the  printer."  Here 
was  a  direct,  personal  invitation,  which  I  durst  not  overlook. 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  133 

I  was  tired  of  penmanship,  drawing,  and  vagabondizing,  and 
lost  no  time  in  sending  off  a  letter  to  Messrs.  Young  and 
Minns,  in  answer  to  the  advertisement.  In  due  time.  I  re 
ceived  a  few  lines  from  a  Mr.  M..  saying.  '•  Come  on  at  once; 
and.  if  we  cannot  agree,  your  hoard  shall  cost  you  nothing, 
till  you  find  a  place  to  suit  you."  Of  course.  I  jumped  at  the 
offer.  On  my  way  through  Portland,  where  1  had  long  been 
reported  lost,  or  missing.  1  called  upon  some  of  the  old  stand 
ards,  who  best  knew  me  as  business-men,  and.  at  their  sugges 
tion,  wrote  a  "  recommend  "  for  myself,  which  they  all  signed, 
and  which  I  have  now  before  me.  dated  May,  1811.  Being 
brief  and  to  the  purpose.  1  will  give  it  here.  "  We  the 
subscribers  merchants  of  Portland  have  known  the  bearer 
John  Neal  for  a  number  of  years  and  believe  him  to  be  hon 
est  capable  and  actire  and  well-qualified  for  the  wholesale  or 
retail  English  goods  bussmess"  no  stops  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  '•  business"  spelled  with  double  s :  and  hurried  off  by 
the  verv  next  conveyance  to  Boston,  where  I  arrived  late  of 
a  Saturday  evening,  and  put  up  at  the  stage-tavern  kept  by 
Earle,  in  Anne  Street.  N.B.  I  write  from  recollection  here, 
and  cannot  stop  to  verify  names  or  dates. 

June  20.  1807.  —  Another  long  interval,  during  which  T  have 
not  been  able  to  write  a  line,  except  in  the  way  cf  business; 
having  been  much  occupied  with  our"  Portland  Institute  and 
Public  Library,"  which,  after  a  struggle  of  six  or  eight 
months,  promises  to  be  handsomely  encouraged  ;  and  in  or 
ganizing  and  preparing  for  the  rooms  assigned  us  in  the  new 
city-hall,  which  we  have  now  reason  to  hope  will  be  ready 
for  us  by  September,  or  October,  at  furthest,  when  we  shall 
make  another  appeal  to  the  commonwealth  of  literature  and 
science. 

Our  building-loan,  it  is  now  found,  may  be  reckoned  upon 
with  safety,  notwithstanding  my  fears.  Its  constitutionality 
is  no  longer  questioned,  the  sanction  of  the  people  being  ob 
tained  under  a  form  which  certainly  seems  to  distinguish  it 
from  legislation.  The  money  —  two  millions  —  may  not 
be  had  on  such  ea«y  terms  as  we  hoped  for,  at  one  time,  and 
were  justified  in  hoping  for,  by  some  of  the  largest  banking- 
houses  in  the  \vorld ;  but  still,  we  can  have  it,  all  we  want, 
and  as  fast  as  it  is  needed,  on  such  conditions  as  we  ought 
to  be  satisfied  with. 


134  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Just  returned  from  a  trial  trip  to  Oswego,  with  a  delega 
tion  of  our  leading  capitalists  and  business-men,  who  have 
ascertained  that  a  new  railway  through  the  Notch  of  the 
White  Mountains  to  Ogdensburg  is  not  only  possible,  but  easy 
to  build,  without  a  large  outlay  ;  the  Notch  itself,  and  ten 
miles  of  the  way  on  this  side,  being  estimated  by  a  competent 
engineer,  after  a  careful  survey,  at  forty  thousand  dollars  a 
mile,  and  no  more  ;  while  the  rest  of  the  route  is  eminently 
favorable  for  the  whole  length  :  so  that  offers  from  responsible 
parties  are  made  to  build  the  whole  road.  Notch  included,  for 
twenty-nine  thousand  dollars  a  mile,  with  materials  at  hand, 
along  the  whole  distance  ;  land  damages  little  or  nothing,  as 
the  whole  country  is  astir  in  its  favor,  the  worst  grade  being 
only  sixty-five  feet  to  the  mile,  and  that  through  the  White 
Hills,  where  the  track  will  run  along  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
two  hundred  feet  above  the  present  travelled  road,  and  all  the 
rest  comparatively  level,  or  nearly  so.  The  road  will  un 
doubtedly  be  built ;  and  the  granaries  of  the  west  be  emptied 
into  our  unequalled  harbor,  through  this  new  outlet,  within 
two  or  three  years ;  and  timber  growth  enough  opened  to  pay 
for  the  road  —  almost. 

Our  building  is  on  a  magnificent  scale  just  now.  We  have 
determined  to  bring  the  Sebago  into  our  houses,  come  what 
may  ;  the  waste  places  are  blossoming  with  life  and  beauty  ; 
six  churches  are  going  up,  the  new  post-office  of  white  Ver 
mont  marble,  the  custom-house,  the  city-hall,  many  blocks 
of  stores  and  houses,  far  handsomer  and  more  convenient 
than  we  ever  had  before ;  and  a  hotel  so  large,  that  nine 
stores  will  constitute  the  lower  story  on  Middle  and  Plum 
Streets. 

And  now,  having  recorded  the  progress  of  our  beautiful 
city  for  the  last  month  or  two,  let  me  return  to  my  story, 
which,  sooth  to  say,  I  have  not  dared  to  meddle  with,  in  the 
hurry  and  bustle  of  so  much  business. 

At  last,  then,  I  found  myself  in  Boston,  —  a  stranger  among 
strangers  ;  for  I  knew  but  one  or  two  persons  at  most,  and 
was  afraid  of  meeting  either  of  them,  before  I  had  secured  a 
resting-place  for  the  sole  of  my  foot.  I  rose  early,  long  be 
fore  the  rest  of  the  world,  on  the  first  sabbath-morning  that 
followed,  and  took  my  way,  of  course,  toward  Marlboro'-Street, 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    THROUGH    LIFE.  135 

wishing  to  see  bow  the  land  lay.  before  I  stopped  long  enough 
anywhere  to  take  root.  With  some  difficulty.  1  found  the  num 
ber —  it  was  nearly  opposite  the  Marlboro'-Hotel  — and  there 
saw  the  name  of  my  correspondent.  There  were  two  large 
bay-windows  in  the  store,  and  all  overhead  was  occupied  by 
tin-  family.  For  a  wholesale  and  retail  dry-goods  establish 
ment,  in  a  large  city,  as  Boston  was  then  regarded,  though 
not  larger  than  Portland  is  now.  this  did  not  seem  to  me  very 
magnificent.  I  must  acknowledge  :  for.  up  to  this  time,  all 
the  stores  I  had  ever  been  employed  in.  were  at  least  three 
stories  hiirh.  with  no  part  occupied  for  dwellings.  It  is  very 
true  that  the  upper  stories  were  almost  always  empty,  with 
one  single  exception,  that  of  Mr.  Willis  in  Ilaymarket  Row  ; 
but  still  they  were  stores,  or  warehouses,  and  not  finished 
chambers,  for  dwellings  or  offices. 

That  day.  I  walked  on  the  hot  pavements,  until  my  feet 
were  blistered  ;  sauntering  through  the  mall,  as  I  saw  others 
doing,  and  meeting  at  every  turn  two  men,  I  shall  never  for 
get,  both  remarkable  for  stature,  and  beauty  of  person,  and  a 
free,  graceful  carriage.  One  was  a  hatter,  who  seemed  to  enjoy 
beinif  stared  at.  as  he  paraded  the  broad  avenue  all  day  long, 
to  and  fro.  with  the  air  of  a  prince,  the  "monarch  of  all  he 
surveyed."  —  another  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  at  least,  if  I 
miijht  judge  by  the  countenances  I  saw.  and  the  observa 
tions  I  heard ;  the  other,  Lucius  Manlius  Sargent,  then  in 
the  meridian  of  his  manly  beauty  and  great  strength  ;  and 
both  rigged  out  in  stocking-net  pantaloons  and  half  boots, 
displaying  their  handsome  legs  to  the  greatest  possible  advan 
tage,  as  poor  Thaddeus  did  his,  in  Hyde  Park,  if  we  may 
believe  Miss  Porter.  Probablv  the  stvle  and  carriage  of 
these  two  remarkable  men  were  adopted  from  her  representa 
tion  of  the  Polish  hero. 

I  was  now  my  own  master,  an  adventurer,  and  had  come  to 
the  metropolis  to  seek  my  fortune.  Having  wandered  about 
the  town  all  day  lon<^.  and  surveyed  the  State-Houses,  both 
old  and  new.  and  taken  a  glance  at  Bunker-Hill,  and  at  the 
larore  warehouses,  and  wharves,  and  retail  establishments,  I 
began  to  feel  as  if  we  should  soon  be  better  acquainted,  and 
that,  within  a  few  days,  at  furthest.  I  might  hope  to  belong 
to  them,  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  population.  Having  visited 


136  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Boston  before,  I  was  not  altogether  a  stranger  to  the  place, 
though  I  was  to  the  people ;  and  meant  so  to  continue  for 
a  while,  happen  what  might. 

The  next  day,  Monday,  I  had  no  sooner  swallowed  my 
breakfast,  than  I  determined  to  have  the  question  settled 
at  once,  and  know  before  I  slept  whether  I  was  to  be  a 
Bostonian,  or  not. 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  137 


CHAPTER  X. 

BUSINESS   OPERATIONS    CONTINUED. 

BOSTON    SHOrKKKI'ING:    NKW    IIl'STXKSS    A KKANGKM KNTS  :    JOHN   FIKRPONT; 

on:  nnsT  A<  QrAiNTANri::  joi>,r,iN<; :  NKWYOIJK:  SMIXUJLINC;;  BOSTON 

roi'AKTNKKSHirs  :    I'IKKI'n.NT  AND   I.(>l:l>;     CHAKLKSTON    STOKE,  S.C.  ;    AD- 
VKNTUKKS    IN    BUSINKs-S    AT    BALTIMORE. 

I  FOUND  tlie  4t  store  "  open  at  a  very  early  hour,  and  Mr.  M. 
arranging  for  the  business  of  the  day.  On  entering,  I  was 
not  a  little  amused  —  astonished,  I  might  say  —  at  the  gen 
eral  aspect  of  the  establishment.  On  one  side,  there  were 
show-cases  with  cheap  jewellery,  silver  tea-spoons,  and  all  sorts 
of  Brummagem  knick-knackery,  a  chest  of  tea.  and  a  long 
array  of  japanned  waiters,  with  landscapes  and  figures  and 
blazonry  of  the  choicest  patterns  :  on  the  other,  and  in  front, 
a  large  assortment  of  what  seemed  to  be  the  refuse  of 
many  a  retail-shop,  and  many  a  small  auction  of  haber 
dashery.  And  this  was  the  wholesale  and  retail  dry-goods 
establishment,  to  which  I  was  invited. 

Mr.  M.  I  found  to  be  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  black  hair,  just 
beginning  to  change,  and  cut  very  close.  Nothing  could  be 
more  precise,  nothing  more  serious,  than  his  bearing  and 
equipment.  His  hat  you  could  see  your  face  in ;  and  his 
pepper-and-salt  clothes  looked  as  if  they  had  never  been 
tumbled,  since  they  came  out  of  the  hands  of  the  tailor. 
AVith  small  sharp  eyes  —  very  black,  in  appearance  —  a  rather 
strange  cadaverous  complexion,  arid  a  solemnity  of  manner 
which  seemed  wholly  out  of  place  behind  the  counter,  the 
first  impression  I  received,  was  far  from  favorable.  But, 
upon  introducing  myself,  and  entering  into  conversation  with 
him,  his  countenance  lighted  up  ;  and,  at  the  end  of  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  we  had  entered  into  an  arrangement,  and  I 
found  my  prejudices  giving  way. 


138  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  was  to  have  either  eighty  or  a  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
I  forget  which,  with  board  and  washing  in  the  family ; 
to  have  the  whole  charge  of  the  business  —  to  open  shop, 
sweep,  and  dust,  and  be  always  on  hand,  from  a  very  early 
hour,  until  we  shut  up  in  the  evening. 

To  all  this,  I  made  no  objection,  for  I  longed  to  be  at 
work  once  more  ;  and  the  smell  of  the  goods,  though  most 
of  them  were  musty  and  shop-worn,  was  grateful  to  me. 

1  had  no  acquaintances,  and  never  passed  an  evening  out 
of  the  house,  I  believe  ;  and  though,  I  used  to  be  called 
out  of  bed  at  a  most  unreasonable  hour,  and  didn't  half  like 
Mr.  Murphy's  way  of  doing  business,  nor  his  long  prayers 
before  we  parted  for  the  night,  still  we  managed  to  get  along 
pretty  well  together,  for  nearly  a  twelvemonth.  His  wife, 
a  very  pleasant,  amiable  woman,  treated  me  like  a  younger 
brother ;  and  I  was  glad  to  pass  what  spare  time  I  had  at  my 
own  disposal,  in  her  society.  I  used  to  go  to  bed  soon  after 
nine  o'clock,  at  all  seasons  ;  and  though  I  took  a  stroll  on  the 
sabbath,  and  sometimes  wandered  away  off  into  the  country, 
yet  I  always  went  to  meeting  at  least  once  a  day.  and,  if  I  am 
not  greatly  mistaken,  twice.  The  Old  South,  in  winch  Mr. 
Huntington  then  preached,  was  reckoned  among  the  fashion 
ably  orthodox  ;  and  Mr.  M.  was  a  leading'  professor. 

And.  when  I  mention  a  few  of  his  peculiarities,  it  will  not 
be  wondered  at,  that  I  was  troubled  with  certain  misgivings, 
not  of  a  religious  character,  but  of  a  nature  to  make  me  sus 
picions  of  all  sanctimonious  pretension. 

The  first  thing  I  saw  that  disturbed  my  faith  in  the  man, 
was  seeing  him  smooth  his  hat  with  the  most  elaborate  care 
fulness,  wiping  it  with  a  fine  towel  after  it  had  been  brushed 
with  a  very  soft  brush  over  and  over  again,  while  the  bells 
were  ringing  for  church,  and  his  wife  was  waiting  for  him  in 
the  passage-way  ;  and  this,  after  one  of  his  longest  prayers  for 
grace  to  keep  the  sabbath  holy. 

But  certain  of  his  business  habits,  after  I  had  got  acquainted 
with  them,  had  a  still  more  disastrous  effect  upon  me.  They 
were  too  much  of  a  piece  with  what  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  among  the  heterodox,  the  world's  people,  who  cared  for 
none  of  these  things.  For  example:  — 

He  had  acquired  a  reputation  for  selling  the  best  teas  ID 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  139 

the  market :  and.  although  he  charged  a  high  price,  there 
were  certain  wealthy  families  who  depended  altogether  upon 
him  for  their  supplies,  without  regard  to  cost.  And  yet  I 
never  knew  him  to  have  more  than  two  or  three  chests  on 
hand  at  any  time:  and  that  always  of  the  same  kind.  "Old 
Ilvson."  if  I  recollect  rightly.  On  receiving  a  new  chest  into 
the  store,  the  tea-drinking  cor/nosccnfi  were  confidentially 
notified  :  a  larire  part  was  weighed  out.  and  put  up  into  pound 
bundles,  readv  for  applicants,  who  always  took  it  for  a  favor; 
and  so  long  ns  that  particular  hrand  was  on  tap.  Mr.  Murphy 
went  no  further  into  the  speculation.  One  would  have  sup 
posed  the  article  had  come,  over  1-ind.  by  the  way  of  Russia, 
or  that  it  had  been  smuggled,  so  much  whispering  was  there 
between  him  and  his  tea-drinking  customers,  after  a  fresh 
arrival,  and  so  mysterious  were  some  of  the  proceedings. 
But  with  his  advanced  price,  and  settled  reputation  for  sell 
ing  the  best,  and  only  the  best,  he  managed  to  make  of  it  a 
verv  pretty  business. 

Another  way  he  had  of  turning  an  honest  penny  was.  under 
pretence  of  keeping  a  goldsmith's  shop,  to  take,  in  all  sorts  of 
trinkets  —  with  their  proprietors  —  for  repair.  The<e  he 
would  sometimes  mend  in  his  own  way  with  shellac  or  sealing- 
wax,  or  send  off  to  a  working-jeweller,  and  then  charge  three 
times  the  price  he  paid  for  the  work.  But  people  never  com 
plained,  or  never  but  once,  to  my  knowledge,  when  a  pair  of 
large  golden  hoops  parted,  before  the  owner  had  fairly  reached 
her  home  :  thev  had  been  stuck  together  by  Mr.  M.  at  a  cost 
which  seemed  rather  unreasonable,  even  if  they  had  been 
faithfully  mended.  The  matter  was  finally  settled  —  I  know 
not  how  —  perhaps  with  a  plausible  explanation,  and  another 
dip  into  the  glue-poi,  or  a  touch  of  the  blowpipe. 

One  other  incident,  and  I  have  done  with  my  illustrations 
of  character  here.  The  late  Deacon  Samuel  May's  family 
were  among  his  best  customers,  and  always  had  their  tea  of 
him.  I  believe.  One  day,  it  happened  that  they  wanted 
mourning  for  the  family  ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  had.  in  a  hurry. 
But  Mr.  M.  had  a  quantity  of  cotton  cambric  remnants  on 
hand,  which  had  been  lately  dyed,  and  were  warranted  not  to 
smut.  They  were  shop-worn,  to  be  sure,  and  of  different 
qualities  and  colors  and  widths  ;  but,  then,  they  would  do  for 


140  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

mourning.  And  the  whole  family  were  provided  for,  as  a  great 
favor ;  the  war  having  made  new  goods  impossible,  and  shop 
worn,  old-fashioned,  worthless  rubbish,  of  unspeakable  value, 
especially  in  a  case  of  sudden  death. 

After  the  funeral  was  over,  two  of  the  family  called  to 
remonstrate  with  me.  and  to  show  me  their  dresses :  they 
were  absolutely  ragged,  full  of  holes,  and  so  different  in  color 
that  some  of  the  breadths  appeared  changeable,  and  not  unlike 
what  was  then  called  chambray. 

What  the  worthy  man  said,  I  do  not  now  remember ;  but, 
preserving  his  gracious  perpendicularity,  and  seriousness  of 
look,  and  answering  all  they  could  say,  as  if  wondering  at 
their  unreasonable  pertinacity,  he  got  rid  of  them  at  last  —  and 
they  were  among  his  best  customers  —  upon  the  ground  that  he 
had  to  buy  what  he  could,  where  he  could,  for  the  supply  of 
his  friends,  and,  of  course,  would  not  buy  any  thing  unmer 
chantable,  if  he  knew  it.  And  this  was  all  the  satisfaction 
they  ever  got.  Of  course,  if  such  were  the  saints,  one  would 
like  to  know  how  the  sinners  would  behave,  under  a  serious 
temptation. 

With  this  unfortunate  gentleman,  who,  I  verily  believe,  had 
no  idea,  that  for  a  professor  to  do  such  things,  in  the  way  of 
business,  provided  he  went  three  times  a  day  to  church  on  the 
sabbath,  and  was  exceedingly  scrupulous  about  appearances, 
and  wore  a  smooth,  shiny  hat,  and  a  pepper-and-salt  suit, 
always  newlv  brushed,  and  said  long  prayers,  night  and  morn 
ing,  with  a  snuffle,  was  much  out  of  the  way  —  with  this 
unfortunate  gentleman  —  I  say  unfortunate,  because,  for  a  time, 
I  was  led  to  look  upon  him-  as  a  type  of  the  orthodox  faith, 
and  but  for  his  dear  wife,  who  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  sincere 
and  humble  Christian.  I  should  have  gone  over,  body  and  soul, 
as  I  did  long  afterward,  to  the  Universalists  and  Unitarians 

—  I  labored  for  another  year,  according  to  my  present  recol 
lection. 

But,  in  the  course  of  the  summer,  I  had  become  acquainted 

—  I  know  not  how  —  with  a  young  man,  a  pocket-book  manu 
facturer,  by  the  name  of  Lord,  Erastus  A.  Lord,  who  had 
once  lived  in   Portland,  and  kept  a  bookstore  and   bindery 
there,  as  he  told  me.     He  was  doing,  to  all  appearance,  a  very 
profitable  business,  the  war  having  made'it  almost  impossible 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  141 

to  supply  the  demand  for  wallets,  and  pocket-books,  and  port 
folios  :  but  be  wanted  something  better,  and  having  known 
me  at  Portland,  when  I  was  with  Mr.  Hill,  or  Mr.  Willis.  I 
forget  which,  and  having  seen  ho\v  I  managed  for  Mr.  Mur- 
phv.  he  proposed  to  go  into  partnership  with  me  :  to  furnish 
all  the  capital  needed,  and  to  open  a  retail  dry-goods  establish 
ment,  which  would  be  left  in  my  charge  altogether,  while  he 
went  on  with  his  pocket-hook  manufactory,  which  was  yield 
ing  a  prodigious  profit,  and  was  capable  of  indefinite  enlarge 
ment,  if  he  could  only  iind  workmen.  lie  appeared  to  have 
money  enough,  both  for  business  and  pleasure  :  kept  a  horse 
and  gig.  and  spent  most  of  his  afternoons  in  riding  about  the 
neighborhood,  and  paying  other  people's  bills  ;  beini;  both  gen 
erous  and  extravagant. 

I  had  no  objection  to  such  an  arrangement :  indeed.  I  rather 
desired  it,  as  one  way  of  being  my  own  master,  and  of  show 
ing  to  the  world  what  I  was  good  for.  I  was  just  out  of  my 
time  —  as  I  have  been  ever  since  —  and  felt  a  deep  inward 
consciousness.  I  might  say  assurance,  that  I  had  a  mission  to 
fulfil,  and  that  the  world  had  something  for  me  to  do.  thousrh 
what  it  was.  I  knew  not.  like  poor  old  Lear,  when  he  threat 
ened  to  astonish  it. 

But  there  were  questions  to  be.  asked,  and  answered,  before 
I  would  consent  to  commit  myself. 

How  much  capital  would  he  put  in.  and  in  what  shape? 
was  my  first  inquiry. 

Whatever  might  be  needed,  was  the  reply.  lie  had  a 
brother,  Joseph  L.  Lord,  then  at  work  between  the  British 
possessions  and  our  large  cities,  buying  smuggled  goods,  and 
sending  them  by  wagons  to  New  York,  where  thev  always 
met  with  a  ready  sale,  at  enormous  rates.  This  brother 
would  indorse  our  notes  for  whatever  we  wanted  to  buy.  and 
such  notes  would  always  be  equal  to  cash,  for  business 
purposes. 

But  where  should  we  look  for  a  store  ?  Such  a  conven 
ience,  it  seemed,  was  not  to  be  had  in  the  whole  city  of  Bos 
ton,  unless  I  would  consent  to  burrow  in  some  blind  alley,  or 
migrate  into  the  border-lands. 

However,  that  difficulty  was  overcome  at  last.  An  old 
retail-shop  might  be  had,  upon  the  simple  condition  of  taking 


142  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  stock  at  cost.  The  proprietor  had  been  long  established  ; 
and  most  of  his  goods,  though  somewhat  antiquated  and  shop 
worn,  had  been  "laid  in"  before  the  war  —  you  would  have 
thought  so,  if  you  had  seen  the  blankets.  I  went  to  see 
the  goods.  To  all  appearance,  they  were  in  capital  order, 
and,  if  old-fashioned,  were  not  likely  to  be  unsalable  in  a 
m.irket  where  every  thing  sold,  even  dyed  remnants  of  parti 
colored  cambrics,  for  mourning.  The  stand  was  all  we  could 
wish  for,  being  just  beyond  the  Old  South;  and  the  stock,  at 
a  rough  estimate,  was  believed  to  be  worth,  at  cost,  about  sjx 
or  eight  thousand  dollar?.  Upon  this  calculation,  the  bargain 
was  closed  between  my  partner  and  Mr.  Winn,  the  proprietor  ; 
we  to  give  our  partnership-notes  on  a  credit  of  six,  twelve, 
and  eighteen  months,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  with  Mr.  Joseph  L. 
Lord's  indorsement,  which  was  '•  perfectly  satisfactory." 

Meanwhile,  having  arranged  my  own  business,  and  drawn 
up  articles  of  copartnership,  I  notified  Mr.  Murphy  of  my 
intentions.  Instead  of  taking  the  matter  kindly,  and  con 
gratulating  me  on  my  prospects,  he  began  to  ride  a  very  high 
horse,  and  finally  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  had  suspected 
as  much,  from  the  underhand  course  I  had  taken.  We  were 
standing  together,  at  the  time  he  said  this,  near  a  large  win 
dow,  opening  into  a  narrow  area,  which  separated  the  back 
part  of  the  shop  from  an  addition,  which  was  used  for  a  din 
ing-room.  I  tired  up,  and  demanded  an  explanation,  having 
about  made  up  my  mind  to  pitch  him  into  his  wife's  lap,  as 
she  sat  by  the  open  window  just  opposite,  if  he  did  not  satisfy 
me.  I  did  not  raise  my  voice,  nor  did  she  hear  what  I  said; 
but  she  saw  that  mischief  -was  brewing,  as  I  understood  after  it 
was  all  over,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  interfering,  when  her 
husband  came  to  his  senses,  and,  speaking  in  the  blandest  of 
tones,  asked  me  if  I  did  not  remember  covering  the  page  with 
my  hand  one  day,  not  long  before,  when  he  was  passing  the 
desk.  "  Perfectly,"  said  I.  "  Well,  then,  was  nut  that 
underhanded  ?  " 

Of  course,  there  was  not  another  word  to  be  said.  I  set 
tled  with  him  on  the  spot,  bade  his  wife good-b'ye,  and  vanished, 
with  my  trunk  and  rattletraps  ;  going  to  board  with  my  part 
ner,  at  Mr.  Pierpont's,  in  Hancock-Street ;  he  having  married 
a  sister  of  Joseph  and  Erastus.  and  having  an  office  in  Court 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  143 

Street,  where  he  spent  his  whole  time,  for  want  of  better 
business,  in  waiting  for  the  grass  to  grow,  reading  and  writing 
poetrv,  and  engraving  seals  for  amusement. 

By  the  end  of  another  week,  we  had  ascertained,  to  my 
unspeakable  astonishment,  that  the  stock  we  had  agreed  to 
purchase,  instead  of  amounting  to  six  or  eight  thousand  dol 
lars,  would  overrun  twelve  or  fourteen  thousand.  This  was 
'•too  much  —  much  too  much."  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  old 
bandboxes,  and  refuse,  and  rubbish  of  a  business,  which  had 
been  carried  on  for  nobodv  knew  how  loniz,  had  become  of 
priceless  value.  And  so  we  backed  out,  under  the  pretence 
that  Joseph  would  not  indorse  for  so  larije  an  amount. 
Nor  would  he  —  of  that  I  am  sure  —  even  for  half  the  amount, 
had  he  seen  the  stock,  lie  would  rather  have  dug  clams  at 
the  halves,  when  the  tide  was  up;  and  again,  I  was  out  of 
business,  drifting  I  knew  not  whither. 

July  5,  1807.  —  The  anniversary  of  our  terrible  visitation 
is  over  ;  and  so  are  the  gvpsy  threatenings  and  prophecies, 
which  had  begun  to  trouble  not  a  few  of  our  people,  who 
delight  in  mvstery.  and  believe  in  the  predictions  of  the  aged 
and  the  ignorant,  as  they  do  in  their  medicines,  until  Indians 
and  idiots  are  treated  as  if  they  were  the  special  favorites  of 
Heaven,  and  gifted  with  a  foresight  akin  to  foreknowledge. 
Being  good  for  nothing  else,  therefore,  they  are  supposed  to  be 
good  at  prophesying  and  doctoring.  These  gypsies,  who  had 
lately  found  their  way  over  the  Canada  frontier,  having 
brought  with  them  a  larjje  number  of  horses,  upon  which  no 
duties  were  paid,  and  which,  for  that  reason,  were  seized  by 
our  collector,  began  straightway  to  prophesy,  that,  on  the  com 
ing  Fourth  of  July,  the  rest  of  our  beautiful  city  would  be 
laid  in  ashes.  And  —  would  you  believe  it!  —  there  were 
hundreds,  not  to  say  thousands,  among  us,  fools  enough  to 
believe  them,  or  fools  enough  to  be  seriously  frightened. 
Arid  even  our  city  authorities,  with  a  view  to  what  might 
happen,  gave  public  notice  that  all  the  engines  would  be  fired 
up,  the  horses  all  kept  harnessed,  and  the  engine  houses  open, 
till  the  danger  was  over,  thereby,  instead  of  tranquillizing 
the  public  mind,  helping  to  disturb  it;  for  who  should  say 
what  might  not  happen,  if  the  wind  should  rise,  and  a  fire 
break  out  along  the  upper  part  of  Commercial  -  Street  ? 


144  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Where  the  cars  are  constantly  running,  and  throwing  out  a 
hurricane  of  cinders  and  sparks,  on  their  way  through  piles 
of  lumber,  heaps  of  shavings,  coopers'  shops,  and  shanties, 
with  hardly  a  brick  building  to  be  seen,  on  either  side  of  the 
way,  for  one-third  of  the  distance,  what  wonder  that  live 
coals  are  found,  all  along  the  way.  after  a  high  wind,  or  that 
many  fires  have  caught  before  that  of  last  July,  and  one, 
where  a  large  quantity  of  hay  was  destroyed,  with  I  know 
not  how  many  wooden  warehouses,  or  sheds  ?  Even  yester 
day,  a  fire  did  take  place  from  the  sparks  of  a  locomotive  ; 
and  yet  we  allow  the  managers  to  burn  wood,  as  hitherto, 
instead  of  anthracite  —  and  this,  after  it  has  been  clearly  ascer 
tained  that  the  great  fire  itself  was  caused,  not  by  fire 
crackers,  or  Lucifer  matches,  thrown  among  the  rubbish  of  a 
boat-builder's  premises,  as  then  reported,  and  believed,  but  by 
a  passing  locomotive,  in  full  blast,  throwing  out  a  torrent  of 
cinders  all  the  way.  But  the  evil  must  be  put  a  stop  to. 

And  now  to  resume.  Being  once  more  adrift,  what  was  I 
to  do?  Our  partnership  scheme  was  ended;  and  the  capital 
I  had  been  assured  of  so  confidently,  had  vanished  for  ever. 
I  could  not  be  idle  :  it  would  have  killed  me  in  three  months  ; 
and  so  I  concluded  to  open  a  jobbing-house,  in  the  chamber 
on  Court-Street,  where  I  first  saw  my  friend,  the  Rev.  John 
Pierpont,  then  a  starveling  at  law.  He  was  dying  of  inani 
tion,  slowly  drying  up,  and  might  soon  have  been  blown  away, 
had  not  his  brother-in-law,  that  very  Mr.  Joseph  L.  Lord,  of 
whom  I  have  had  occasion  to  speak  already,  persuaded  him 
to  give  up  the  law,  and  seal-cutting,  and  occasional  poetry,  for 
a  copartnership  with  him, 'in  the  retail  and  jobbing  dry-goods 
business.  Not  that  our  good  friend  Pierpont  knew  any  thing 
about  such  matters ;  not  that  he  was  by  nature  fitted  for  any 
kind  of  business,  apart  from  the  law ;  but  then,  he  wrote 
a  beautiful  hand,  was  a  capital  book-keeper,  in  his  way, 
was  married  to  Mr.  Lord's  sister,  and  had  already  three  chil 
dren  to  begin  with.  Moreover,  he  was  uncomfortably  poor, 
and  in  foiling  health  ;  so  that  he  was  nearer  the  grave  in  1812 
-13  and  14,  than  at  any  other  time,  for  the  next  forty  years. 
Undoubtedly,  this  new  occupation  saved  him.  Not  long 
before,  Mr.  Lord  had  been  in  partnership  with  a  Mr.  Farns- 
worth,  under  the  firm  of  Lord  and  Farnsworth,  in  a  large 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  145 

store,  at  the  corner  of  Court  and  Washington  Streets,  then 
Marlboro'-  Street. 

Upon  entering  into  this  new  business  arrangement,  my 
friend,  the  poet,  had  no  further  use  for  the  room  lie  occupied. 
I  was  boarding  with  him  at  the  time  :  and.  when  he  told  me 
that  he  had  given  it  up.  the  idea  instantly  took  possession  of 
me  that  there  was  an  opening  for  just  such  enterprise  as  I 
had  always  been  somewhat  distinguished  for.  I  lost  no  time, 
therefore,  in  securing  the  stand,  and.  within  forty-eight  hours, 
had  invested  my  whole  capital  (not  far  from  thirty  Thousand 
—  cents)  in  a  few  article-  —  few.  but  fitting — which  I  spread 
out  on  two  or  three  large  pine  tables,  in  such  a  way,  that  the 
unexperienced  would  have  mistaken  them  for  "quite  a  heap," 
like  Pindar's  razors.  To  these,  I  added  a  trunk  of  calicoes, 
•which  had  been  bought  on  the  strength  of  Mr.  J.  L.  Lord's 
indorsement,  while  his  brother  Krastus  and  I  were  waiting  for 
the  account  of  stock  to  be  finished,  and  were  left  on  my 
hands,  together  with  a  bale  or  two  of  blue-plains,  which  I 
had  bought  one  day  at  auction,  upon  the  strength  of  my  uncle 
James  Neal's  credit  :  he  having  authorized  me  to  draw  on  him, 
if  I  needed  help. 

And  this  was  all.  Having  arranged  mv  goods.  I  sat  down 
and  waited  for  customers  ;  and  then,  after  waiting  two  or  three 
days.  I  re-arranged  them,  and  marked  them  all  over  at  reduced 
prices:  but  all  in  vain.  I  was  upstairs.  I  had  not  even  a 
sign  ;  and  how  on  earth  could  I  hope  for  customers,  in  such 
an  out-of-the-way  place  ?  But  these  considerations  came  too 
late  ;  and  at  the  end  of  a  week,  or  ten  days  at  furthest,  I 
became  satisfied  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  do  any  busi 
ness  worth  mentioning,  as  a  jobber,  in  that  small  room.  Not 
a  pennyworth  had  I  been  able  to  sell,  though  I  had  waylaid 
many  a  passing  stranger,  and  had  "tried  it  on  "  with  my  old 
master.  Rundlet,  whom  I  met  one  day,  when  I  knew  he  was 
on  the  look-out  for  just  such  blue-plains  as  I  happened  to 
have  on  hand  ;  but  no  !  either  his  contract  with  commissary 
Lanijdon  had  been  filled,  or  he  was  inclined  not  to  encourage 
my  interference  with  a  long-established  monopoly.  Not  a 
pennyworth  !  and  my  board-bill  running  up,  hand  over  hand ; 
my  rent,  and  my  personal  expenses. 

At  last,  I  concluded  to  drop  in   upon   my  friend  Murphy, 


146  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

who,  by  the  way,  sorry  though  he  had  been  to  part  with  me, 
would  not  take  the  hint,  when  I  called  upon  him,  by  accident, 
just  after  the  overthrow  of  my  copartnership-dream,  and  would 
have  gladly  gone  back  to  the  place  I  had  thrown  up,  though  I 
did  not  say  so  —  I  would  have  died  first  —  and  offered  him  a 
chance  to  buy  me  out. 

I  succeeded  so  far  as  to  get  him  into  my  trap,  where  I 
showed  him  the  goods,  and  the  invoices,  and  told  him  what 
might  be  done  with  them  in  his  establishment.  He  seemed 
struck  with  the  bargains  I  had  obtained,  and  I  knew  he  had 
great  respect  for  my  shrewdness  and  judgment ;  for  he  had 
always  bought  on  my  recommendation,  where  I  saw  any 
thing  I  thought  would  pay,  and  had  never  been  disappointed 
in  the  result.  My  invoices  were  all  before  him.  unchanged, 
untampered  with  ;  and  yet,  as  he  probably  saw  how  much  I 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  my  stock,  he  not  only  did  not  buy  a  six- 
penceworth.  but  he  would  not  even  make  an  offer. 

I  was  indignant,  of  course;  but  I  kept  my  temper  —  and 
have  it  now ;  and  we  parted,  never  again  to  meet  on  earth, 
and  never  to  have  any  business  transactions  together,  except 
one,  which  occurred  after  I  had  got  established  at  Baltimore, 
eighteen  months  or  two  years  later  ;  and  that,  being  eminently 
characteristic  of  the  man,  I  shall  venture  to  give  here.  Hav 
ing  to  remit  large  sums  in  payment  for  the  goods  sent  me  by 
Pierpont  and  Lord,  from  Boston,  and  exchange  being  from 
twenty  to  twenty-five  per  cent  against  Baltimore,  we  used  to 
ship  nankins  and  other  out-of-the-way  merchandise,  instead  of 
bank  drafts.  One  day,  Mr.  Lord,  who  was  always  on  the  watch 
for  a  customer,  fell  in  with  Mr.  Murphy  ;  and  after  chaffering 
awhile  about  remittances,  exchange,  &c.,  broached  the  subject 
of  nankins,  and  finally  succeeded  in  selling  him  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars'  worth,  at  a  price  agreed  upon.  They  were 
to  be  of  a  certain  chop,  to  be  forwarded  without  delay,  and  to 
be  paid  for,  on  delivery.  No  writings  were  drawn  ;  but  every 
thing  was  clearly  stated  in  a  business-like  way,  each  trusting 
to  the  other's  honor. 

When  the  goods  arrived,  Mr.  Lord  notified  Murphy,  and 
passed  over  the  bills  of  lading ;  but,  when  they  came  to  settle 
up,  Mr.  Murphy  claimed  that  he  had  bought  the  nankins  four 
or  five  cents  a  piece  lower  than  they  were  charged.  "  If  not 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  147 

so,"  said  be,  "  where  did  I  get  the  impression  ?  "  And  this 
particular  phrase  became  a  by-word  with  us,  from  that  day 
forward,  whenever  we  had  to  do  with  a  shuffler.  Luckily 
for  Mr.  Lord,  there  was  a  witness,  or  some  sort  of  a  memo 
randum,  which  determined  the  question ;  and  they  settled 
accordingly. 

To  return,  however.  Not  beinir  able  to  get  rid  of  my 
stock-in-trade  to  Mr.  Murphy,  nor  to  anybody  else,  and 
somewhat  unwilling  to  sit  still,  and  suck  my  thumbs,  though 
I  had  nothing  better  in  prospect  for  a  while  —  a  lonu  while, 

it  seemed  to  nu it  may  well  be  supposed  that  I  jumped  at 

an  offer  made  me  by  Mr.  J.  L.  Lord,  soon  after  T  had  met 
him.  with  Krastus,  at  a  bowling-alley,  where  we  discussed 
our  prospects  in  copartnership,  our  narrow  escape  from  the 
old  shop-worn  stock  of  Mr.  AVinn.  and  the  chances  for  smug 
gled  goods  in  the  New-York  market. 

After  a  brief  negotiation,  it  was  agreed  by  and  between  ns, 
that  I  should  take'  charge  of  all  the  goods  which  Mr.  J.  L.  Lord 
—  or  Pierpont  and  Lord,  rather — had  managed  to  get  posses 
sion  of.  and  sell  them,  either  privately  or  otherwise,  in  the  New- 
York  market;  and  within  the  next  four  and  twenty  hours,  I 
was  on  mv  way  to  that  city  of  adventurers,  followed  by  two  or 
three  wagon-loads  of  just  the  kind  of  goods  then  most  wanted 
there,  consisting  of  calicoes,  or  prints,  with  trunks  of  shawls, 
ginghams,  and  muslins. 

By  the  help  of  a  Mr.  Stevenson,  a  nephew  of  the  late  Davy 
Bethune.  the  goods  were  safelv  stored,  and.  within  a  week  or 
ten  days,  actually  sold  for  cash,  either  at  auction  or  privately  ; 
and,  among  them,  my  case  of  prints,  and  my  blue  plains, 
and  all  the  other  nightmares  and  dead  weights  I  had  accu 
mulated  in  Court  Street,  and  I  had  the  returns  in  my  pocket. 
But  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  losing,  from  twenty  to  twenty- 
live  per  cent,  or  something  less,  on  my  New-York  money; 
and  after  some  inquiry,  and  I  believe  at  the  suggestion  of 
Mr.  Stevenson  himself.  I  concluded  to  visit  Baltimore,  where 
I  had  reason  to  believe  exchange  on  England  could  be  had 
of  Robert  Gilmore  and  Sons,  or  Colonel  Tenant,  on  such 
terms  that  something  handsome  might  be  saved  on  the  fifteen 
or  twenty  thousand  dollars  I  took  with  me. 

But,  when  I  reached  Baltimore,  I  found  the  house  of  Gil- 


148  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

more  and  Sons  unable,  or  unwilling,  to  draw  ;  and  Colonel 
Tenant  in  the  field,  reviewing  his  troops.  But  I  had  no  time 
to  lose,  and  was  not  inclined  to  stand  upon  ceremony,  even 
with  a  militia  colonel ;  and  so.  finding  myself  in  rather  a  tight 
place,  and  the  colonel  indisposed  to  draw  —  perhaps  from 
unwillingness  to  convert  a  parade-ground  into  a  counting- 
room,  and  enter  into  negotiations  on  horseback  —  I  hurried 
off  once  more  to  see  the  Messrs.  Gilmore,  and  succeeded,  at 
last,  in  obtaining  the  bills  I  wanted,  though  not  on  such  favor 
able  terms  as  I  had  hoped.  But  I  made  a  saving  of  two  or 
three  per  cent,  over  and  above  my  expenses ;  there  being  no 
telegraph  in  those  days,  and  communication  was  by  stage 
coach  and  mail  only. 

Meanwhile,  my  friends  in  Boston,  to  whom  I  had  written 
that  I  was  "  off  to  Baltimore  to  buy  exchange,"  began  to  be 
frightened,  although  I  never  could  persuade  them  to  acknowl 
edge  any  thing  more  than  that.  Happening  to  meet  my  old 
master,  Rundlet,  in  the  midst  of  their  perplexity,  and  my 
strange  silence  —  for  the  only  letter  I  had  time  to  write,  after  I 
reached  Baltimore,  had  been  delayed,  in  some  way,  I  forget 
how  —  they  had  questioned  him  about  me,  and  had  been  coun 
selled  not  to  give  themselves  any  uneasiness ;  for  whatever 
else  I  might  be,  or  not  be,  I  was  clever,  shrewd,  and  trust 
worthy,  and  they  might  be  sure  of  my  turning  up  in  the  right 
place.  And  so  it  proved ;  for,  the  very  next  day,  I  returned 
with  the  bills  on  London,  all  in  apple-pie  order,  and  all  '•  per 
fectly  satisfactory." 

This  operation,  I  now  see,  though  I  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  fact  then,  determined  my  course  of  action  for  the  next 
two  or  three  years,  and  I  might  say  for  life.  It  had  made 
me  acquainted  with  New-York  and  Baltimore ;  both  of  which 
are  now  pictured  upon  my  heart,  with  the  distinctness  of  a 
daguerreotype.  It  had  opened  a  wide  field  of  observation  to 
me,  and  given  me  not  months,  but  years,  of  experience. 
Among  other  things  I  had  learned,  was  this,  that  in  New 
York  it  was  not  always  thought  discreditable  for  a  jobber 
of  high  standing  to  behave  like  a  horse-jockey ;  one  of  the 
most  respectable  having  bought  a  trunk  of  shawls  one  day, 
which  came  to  nearly  two  thousand  dollars,  and  then  refused 
to  pay  for  them,  though  the  prices  were  fixed,  and  the  terms 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  149 

cash  :  and  when  I  told  the  story  to  others,  they  only  laughed 
at  me.  for  supposing  that  a  bargain  was  a  bargain,  before  the 
money  was  paid  over,  and  the  goods  delivered.  Alas  for  my 
simplieitv  !  Though  reckoned  sharp  enough  Down-East,  I 
found  I  had  nntrii  to  learn  about  Wall-Street  and  Peck-Slip; 
and  I  lost  no  time  in  learning  it. 

Soon  after  my  return,  my  friend  Krastus  made  another 
proposition,  which,  after  talking  the  business  over  with  "our 
Joe,"  I  accepted.  It  was  to  open  a  retail  store  at  103.  Court 
Street  ;  Pierpont  and  Lord  occupying  the  corner,  and  Kras 
tus  carrying  on  his  pocket-hook  manufactory,  I  know  not 
where,  but  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  my  business. 

The  sfore.  as  they  called  it,  though  it  was  only  a  shop,  was 
of  rather  contracted  proportions,  and  exceedingly  shallow. 
But  I  managed,  nevertheless,  to  do  a  good  business  in  it, 
and,  for  a  long  time,  without  assistance.  And  this  reminds 
me  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken  about  the  help  offered 
me  bv  my  good  uncle  James,  when  I  purchased  the  blue 
plains  at  auction,  giving  his  name  for  a  rruarantor.  and  when 
I  tried  to  persuade  Mr.  liundlet  to  spring  the  trap  I  had 
set  for  him.  It  was  after  my  jobbing-establishment  was 
broken  up.  and  after  I  had  gone  into  the  retail-business  ;  and, 
of  course,  the  confounded  blue-plains,  which  had  aiven  me  so 
much  trouble,  were  never  got  rid  of  in  New  York,  but  in 
Baltimore. 

I  was  now  comparatively  happy  :  selling  for  cash,  busy  all 
day  long,  getting  ahead  fast  enough  to  satisfy  even  mv  ambi 
tion,  and  boarding  at  Mr.  Pierpont's.  where  we  soon  got  on 
terms  of  what  in  time  became  a  friendship,  sincere  and 
lasting. 

But  "  our  Joe  "  w:-,s  a  most  inveterate  schemer ;  and  never 
satisfied  with  the  condition  of  things  about  him.  so  long  as 
there  seemed  to  be  any  better  possibility  within  reach.  After 
a  while,  therefore,  he  suggested,  for  the  second  time,  a  disso 
lution  of  my  copartnership  with  his  brother.  And  why  not  ? 
Krastns  h^d  furnished  no  capital,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with 
my  business.  All  the  inducement  I  had.  therefore,  to  continue 
the  copartnership,  was  in  the  fact  that  Pierpont  and  Lord 
were  not  afraid  to  trust  us,  and  would  help  us,  at  a  pinch,  with 
their  indorsement. 


150  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

The  affair  was  very  soon  arranged.  Our  connection  was 
ended.  And,  soon  after,  "our  Joe"  suggested  another  change. 
He  had  fallen  acquainted  with  a  young  man  just  out  of  col 
lege,  who,  with  a  small  capital,  not  exceeding  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  wanted  to  live  without  work.  After  a  little  manoeuv 
ring.  I  yielded,  and  went  into  copartnership  with  a  Mr.  Fisher, 
who  knew  nothing  of  business,  and  could  hardly  tell  a  ging 
ham  from  a  calico,  or  a  piece  of  quality-binding  from  a  row 
of  pins.  But  I  persevered,  nevertheless,  until  4>  our  Joe  " 
began  to  have  other  views,  which  he  presented  after  so  plausi 
ble  a  fashion,  that  Fisher  and  I  dissolved,  parting  on  the  best 
of  terms ;  and  Messrs.  Pierpont  and  Lord  became  my  part 
ners,  though  their  names  did  not  appear  in  any  of  our  busi 
ness  transactions  ;  and  my  sign,  though  the  shop  underwent 
change  after  change,  continued  to  the  last,  "John  Neal ; " 
only  that,  and  nothing  more. 

July  22,  1867.  —  "  I  do  confess  that  I  am  old,"  says  Lear. 
"  Age  is  unnecessary"  With  slight  symptoms  of  angina 
pectoris,  I  am  beginning  to  think  so  too,  though  my  health  is 
good  enough  to  astonish,  not  only  others,  but  myself;  and  I 
have  lately  undergone  fatigue  enough,  on  our  visit  to  Oswego, 
with  a  view  to  opening  a  new  thoroughfare  through  the  White 
Hills,  to  Chicago  and  the  Pacific,  to  break  down  most  people 
of  my  age.  And  yet  I  bore  it  as  well  as  the  youngest  and 
strongest  of  our  large  party.  We  have  now  had  more  than 
a  week  of  the  coldest  weather  I  ever  knew  at  this  season  of 
the  year,  with  four  days  and  nights  of  almost  uninterrupted 
rain. 

July  23,  1867.  —  A  most  beautiful  day,  warm,  bright,  and 
fragrant.  I  must  go  to  work  once  more. 

In  the  spring  of  1815,  when  I  was  in  my  twenty-second 
year,  the  war  ended  most  unexpectedly,  taking  us  all  by  sur 
prise,  and  making  it  necessary  for  the  holders  of  British  and 
foreign  merchandise  to  bestir  themselves.  My  stock  was  not 
large ;  and,  if  I  had  been  left  to  myself,  I  could  have  run  it 
off  in  three  or  four  months,  without  loss  ;  buying  ooily  what  I 
needed  for  bait,  and  keeping  up  the  supply  in  a  falling  mar 
ket.  But  Pierpont  and  Lord  were  in  a  very  different  condi 
tion.  They  had  bought  largely  on  a  rising  market,  up  to  the 
arrival  of  the  news  we  so  much  wanted,  as  a  people,  and  so 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  151 

much  dreaded,  as  jobbers  and  retailers  :  and  down  came  our 
hopes,  like  a  pile  of  card-houses,  in  a  purl*  from  the  open 
window. 

And  now  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Nobody  wanted  to  buy, 
unless  from  hand  to  mouth  :  and  everybody  wanted  to  sell. 
There  was  no  market  value  for  any  thing,  and  no  calculations 
to  be  made  for  the  future:  and  even  those  who  bought  capital 
bargains  tor  cash,  we're  glad  enough  in  a  week  to  sell  at  a  loss, 
for  "  approved  indorsed  paper." 

After  many  days  of  consultation,  it  was  determined  among 
us.  that  Mr.  Pierpont.  as  our  representative-man,  should  go  to 
Baltimore,  with  letters,  which  would  be  sure1  to  give  him  a 
footing  there  amon^  the  magnates  :  and.  after  looking  about 
him,  and  satisfving  himself,  make  up  his  mind  about  sending 
me  on  there,  with  a  stock  of  seasonable  goods,  if  they  were 
likely  to  be  well  received.  I  objected  from  the  first;  being 
satisfied  with  the  small,  though  safe  business  I  was  then 
doing,  and  having  no  relish  for  adventure.  Hut  I  was  out 
voted  and  overruled  :  and.  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  weeks, 
Mr.  Pierpont  returned  with  such  abundant  and  conclusive 
reasons  for  carrying  out  the  plan  of  operations,  first  projected 
bv  "our  Joe."  that  I  had  nothing  more  to  say.  And  within 
a  month.  1  was  at  Baltimore,  and  established  in  South-Calvert 
Street.  No.  12.  where  1  opened  a  retail -store  with  the  cut 
•roods  1  had  brought  from  Boston.  But.  after  a  few  days, 
I  found  that  I  could  sell  any  thing  and  every  thing,  by  the 
piece  or  yard,  package  or  bale,  for  almost  any  price  1  thought 
proper  to  ask.  The  idea  of  retailing  was  therefore  abandoned, 
at  once,  and  for  ever  ;  and  I  began  to  sell  by  the  piece,  and 
sometimes,  when  I  had  it  in  my  power,  by  the  ease.  Ex 
change  on  Boston  was  from  eighteen  to  twenty-five  per  cent 
advance,  the  banks  there  paying  specie,  while  everywhere 
else,  and  even  in  New  York,  they  had  suspended  specie-pay 
ments  ;  and  the  whole  country  was  Hooded  with  shin-plasters, 
and  dirty,  ragged  bits  of  pasteboard,  which  passed  there,  and 
in  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore,  and  further  South,  for  change; 
bearing  about  the  same  relation  to  the  beautiful  fragmentary 
scrip  we  have  now,  that  the  old-fashioned  continental  money 
bears  to  our  legal-tenders,  and  other  national  issues. 

Notwithstanding  these  great  disadvantages,  however,  and 


152  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  cost  of  living  in  Baltimore,  and  the  heavy  rent  —  heavy, 
in  proportion  to  what  I  had  been  paying  in  Boston,  though  I 
had  taken  a  store  in  a  side  street,  where  no  retail-business 
had  ever  been  tried  —  I  succeeded  in  effecting  large  sales  at 
a  handsome  profit,  oftentimes  amounting  to  25,  33  :\.  and  even 
40  per  cent  clear,  and  always  for  cash.  My  friends  at  Boston 
kept  me  well  supplied  ;  and  my  remittances  were  to  them  — 
for  they  were  doing  little  or  no  business,  and  their  notes  were 
fast  falling  due  —  like  fresh  air,  let  into  an  exhausted  re 
ceiver.  Long  before  I  had  entered  upon  the  jobbing  busi 
ness,  so  successful  had  I  been,  and  so  greatly  encouraged  were 
they,  that  they  determined  to  clear  out,  and  establish  them 
selves  in  Baltimore,  with  all  their  families  and  household 
stuff,  and  all  the  goods  they  might  be  able  to  get  together. 

I  succeeded  in  obtaining  for  them  a  large  warehouse  oppo 
site  mine,  with  a  handsome  dwelling  overhead,  after  a  style 
very  common  at  Baltimore ;  and  they  were  soon  settled, 
housed,  and  hard  at  work,  with  every  thing  to  justify  their 
enterprise.  We  bought  largely,  and  sold  freely  ;  but  —  alas 
for  jfiy  old-fashioned  way  of  doing  business !  —  instead  of  selling 
for  cash,  or  even  for  short  credits,  they  were  so  anxious  to  get 
rid  of  their  purchases  at  a  large  profit,  nominally,  that  they 
sold  for  six  and  twelve  months,  and  to  persons  of  doubtful 
credit  —  slow  coaches  from  Virginia  and  the  West,  with  firms 
like  Banks  Dangerfield  and  Company,  having  three  or  four 
partners  apiece,  and  two  or  three  and-so-forths,  to  mislead 
people.  The  result  of  all  which  was,  that,  before  long,  we 
had  to  pack  off  Mr.  Pierpont  to  Charleston,  S.C.,  where  he 
succeeded  in  establishing  another  jobbing  and  retail  establish 
ment,  under  the  charge  of  Mr.  Gerry,  a  clerk  they  had 
brought  from  Boston,  and  a  vagabond  Englishman,  who  had 
once  been  a  book-keeper  for  a  Mr.  Dayton  at  Philadelphia, 
and,  I  have  no  doubt,  an  actor  in  some  strolling  company. 
Plere  began  our  troubles.  We  had  too  many  goods  on  hand 
for  a  falling  market:  our  sales  were  limited,  and  our  debtors 
what  everybody  understands  by  long-winded.  We  had  to 
raise  large  sums  at  enormous  rates,  pledging  our  goods  for 
security.  The  enterprise  at  Charleston  proved  a  miserable 
failure,  owing  to  the  extravagance  and  bad  management  of 
Saubiere,  though  we  had  acted  upon  the  supposition  that  the 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  1 />.':> 

news  of  peace  had  never  reached  Charleston,  arid  I  am  half 
inclined  to  think  so  now,  in  November.  1868:  and  judging  by 
the  prices  they  were  willing  to  pay  at  first,  as  they  did  in  Bal 
timore,  the  supposition  seemed  to  be  justifiable. 

Hut  our  end  was  approaching.  The  Charleston  stock  was 
withdrawn,  or  what  there  was  left  of  it,  and  a  retail  store 
opened  in  Culvert  Street,  of  which  I  afterwards  took  charge. 
Our  creditors  were  called  together,  and  a  committee  chosen 
to  look  into  our  affairs  ;  and  upon  their  report,  every  way 
satisfactory,  we  obtained  an  extension  (April  19,  181G)  for 
twelve  months,  with  interest. 

On  that  very  day,  Mr.  Pierpont  was  writing  what  follows  : 

"Charleston.  19th  April,  1816. 

"  DEAR  NEAL. —  Damnation  !  R.  $.,  Jr.,  and  Co..  have  as 
signed  every  thing  but  a  few  bushels  of  gourd-seed  corn  lying 
in  his  store  ;  and  of  that,  a  bill  has  been  made.  lie  heard  of 
this  tJiituf  but  yesterday.  One  day,  however,  is  enough  for  a 
thing  to  slip  through  our  fingers.  Nothing  can  be  done  but 
hunch  up  our  shoulders,  and  take  the  blo\v.  Stevens  says 
the  house  won't  do  any  such  thing  as  pay  seventy-five  cents 
on  the  dollar.  Bedticks  sold,  and  sold  well,  at  forty-five  cents 
all  round.  Saubiere  has  certainly  swindled  us  out  of  fifteen 
hundred  dollars.  Neither  Gordon,  nor  Newton,  nor  Smiley, 
nor  Teneyck.  nor  Rogers,  nor  C.  Bronough.  nor  Banks,  will 
pay  when  due.  if  ever.  Very  much  at  leisure  here  in  Ste- 
vens's  store,  and  very  much  at  your  service.  PIERPONT." 

Poor  fellow  !  How  suddenly  this  brief  letter,  which  I 
lip-hted  on  but  a  few  minutes  ago,  brings  back  to  my  recollec 
tion  all  the  suffering  and  sorrow,  the  disappointment  and  mor 
tification,  of  that  dismal  day  —  a  day  which  emancipated  both 
him  and  me.  without  our  knowledge  or  consent,  however, 
from  the  red-hot,  heavy  shackles  we  had  worn  so  long  in  our 
business  relations.  Let  me  add  that  his  gloomy  forebodings 
were  all  justified;  and  that,  long  before  the  twelve  months' 
extension  had  expired,  we  were  bankrupt  indeed,  ruined 
beyond  the  possibility  of  restoration. 

With  a  view  to  keeping  an  assortment.  Mr.  Lord  went  oil 
to  Philadelphia,  and  purchased,  not  largely  —  very  moder- 


154  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ately,  for  him  —  of  the  goods  most  wanted  for  the  retail-store 
which  I  had  consented  to  take  charge  of,  and  for  their  sum 
mer  jobbing.  While  he  was  away,  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
we  must  fail.  My  credit  was  still  good;  and  the  purchases 
had  all  been  paid  for  by  drafts  on  me,  at  four  and  six  months. 
On  his  return,  full  of  unbounded  trust  in  himself,  and  in  the 
future,  Mr.  Lord  took  a  share  of  the  bed,  —  a  bed  in  my 
counting-room  ;  and  we  talked  the  matter  all  over,  hour  after 
hour.  At  first,  he  could  not  believe  me  :  I  had  got  the  blues, 
he  thought.  Hadn't  we  just  received  a  new  stock  of  "sweet 
eners,"  all  paid  for  ;  and  what  on  earth  had  we  to  fear  ? 
Hadn't  we  lots  of  friends,  with  three  capital  stores,  in  the 
best  part  of  the  city,  for  our  business,  with  character  and 
experience  ?  —  I  wanted  to  groan,  but  forbore.  —  Having 
succeeded  once  before,  with  a  k'  stiff  upper  lip,"  when  every 
thing  was  against  us,  why  not  again  ?  '*  Wait  till  morning, 
John,  and  you  will  see  things  in  a  different  light." 

I  did  wait  till  morning,  and,  after  consultation  with  Mr. 
Pierpont,  who  sat  thunderstruck  for  a  while,  as  I  went  on 
with  my  demonstrations,  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  we 
had  reached  the  end  of  our  tether,  and  must  return  the  goods 
purchased  at  Philadelphia,  without  opening  a  package ;  and 
go  into  the  Insolvent  Debtors'  Court  —  nem.  con. 

And  this  we  did.  And  here  ended  my  business  operations 
for  life,  and  those  of  my  friend  Pierpont.  I  determined  to 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  business,  or  with  partnerships ; 
but  to  go  to  work  and  educate  myself,  as  best  I  might,  "  re 
gardless  of  expense"  —  and  having  literally  nothing  to  lose 
—  and  then  go  to  the  bar;  while  Air.  Pierpont,  who  had  been 
looking  another  way,  and  much  higher,  for  months,  began  to 
think  of  the  pulpit;  and  Mr.  Lord,  of  supplying  Covent-Gar- 
den  with  New- York  pippins,  by  the  cargo  —  which  ruined 
him  a  second  time,  before  I  was  fairly  launched,  as  a  student 
at  law. 

On  further  consideration,  it  seems  to  me  that  one  or  two 
incidents,  which  have  just  occurred  to  me,  may  not  be  wholly 
out  of  place  at  the  end  of  this  chapter,  showing  how  we  man 
aged  our  business  in  Baltimore. 

One  day,  after  a  deal  of  urgent  solicitation  from  Mr. 
George  Grundy,  the  father,  to  whom  I  had  carried  letters 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  155 

from  Mr.  Pierpont.  I  consented  to  make  a  bill  with  him. 
Among  my  purchases  were  some  bales  of  blankets,  fresh 
importations,  and  offered  at  fair  prices.  On  getting  them 
into  my  warehouse,  in  Calvert  Street.  I  altered  the  marks, 
and  so  managed  as  to  make  G  G.  &  Son  read  like  J.  X. 
After  I  had  entered  them  on  my  invoice-book  —  not  as 
they  ought  to  have  been  entered.  I  must  acknowledge,  but 
so  as  to  appear  somewhat  larger  than  they  did  in  the  original 
invoice,  and  consequently  somewhat  cheaper  —  a  Mr.  Riggs, 
the  partner  of  our  celebrated  George  Peabody,  under  the  firm 
of  Riggs  and  Peabodv,  called  to  see  otir  blankets,  and  get  the 
prices.  Mr.  Riggs.  by  the  way.  was  a  very  shrewd,  careful 
man,  and  was  not  to  be  satisfied  -without  measuring  the  arti 
cle  ;  saying,  while  so  employed,  that  he  had  just  been  looking 
at  some  bales,  which,  as  they  were  not  opened,  he  had  not 
been  allowed  to  measure,  at  Messrs.  George  Grundy  and 
Sons.  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  their  procedure,  and  in 
stantly  tumbled  half  a  bale  upon  the  floor,  with  a  request  that 
lie  would  satisfy  himself,  by  actual  measurement. 

After  a  thorough  examination,  with  Mr.  Grundy 's  prices 
before  him,  he  bought  mine,  paid  for  them,  cash  down — for 
money  was  plenty  at  Baltimore,  after  the  battle  of  North 
Point,  and  goods  were  always  sold  for  cash,  though  the  bills 
might  not  be  sent  in  for  a  week,  or  even  a  month  —  and  took 
them  off  to  his  store  in  Market -Street,  where  they  were  left 
outside  in  the  sunshine,  as  bait  for  the  Western-country  traders. 
The  next  day,  in  passing  the  warehouse  of  Messrs.  Riggs 
and  Peabody,  I  saw,  to  my  great  amazement  —  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  amusement,  for  I  felt  no  sense  of  shame,  and  not 
the  least  possible  twinge  of  conscience  —  the  letters  J.  N. 
faded  out,  and  the  original  marks  re-appearing  of  G.  G.  & 
Sons  ;  and  lost  no  time  in  hurrying  home,  that  I  might  rejoice 
with  my  partner  (Mr.  Lord)  over  the  clever  trick  1  had 
played,  and  over  the  comfortable  fact  that  we  had  got  our 
pay.  Whether  Mr.  Pierpont  knew  of  the  affair  at  the  time, 
I  cannot  say  ;  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  did,  before  many 
days  were  over,  and  that  he  too  regarded  it  as  a  capital  joke. 
So  much  for  the  corrupting  influences  men  are  exposed  to  in 
trade,  even  where  they  mean  to  be  honest,  and  are  honest,  as 
the  world  goes,  in  forty-nine  cases  out  of  fifty  ;  though  they 


156  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

may  mark  up  their  prints  a  half-yard,  or  three-quarters,  on 
every  piece,  and  their  broadcloths,  cassimeres,  blue  plains,  and 
fearnoughts,  &C.,  &c..  as  much  as  they  will  bear;  that  is  to  say, 
all  that  the  lead  marks  would  allow  to  be  added  to  the  yards, 
in  the  shape  of  one.  two,  or  three  quarters.  But,  much  to 
my  surprise,  we  heard  nothing  from  Mr.  Riggs ;  perhaps, 
because,  if  the  whole  truth  came  out,  he  would  Iiave  the 
laugh  against  him.  Yet  I  may  as  well  say  here,  that  the 
older  I  grow,  the  sorrier  I  am  for  all  these  transactions. 
They  were  shameful,  and  quite  of  a  piece  with  cheating  at 
cards,  or  selling  your  brother  a  horse  with  a  glass  eye,  and 
then  bragging  of  it  at  the  dinner-table. 

Another  incident  occurs  to  me,  where,  instead  of  playing  the 
sharper  myself,  I  had  to  deal  with  a  sharper,  who  had  been  suc 
cessful  with  everybody  else.  A  man,  who  kept  a  retail -store 
near  the  head  of  Calvert  Street,  named  Cyprian  F.  Wells, 
bought  a  bill  of  me.  for  cash  on  delivery,  amounting  to  five  or 
six  hundred  dollars.  Contrary  to  my  usual  course,  I  did  not 
send  in  the  bill  for  about  a  week ;  when  he  put  me  off,  and 
this,  day  after  day.  till  I  was  out  of  all  patience  with  the  fel 
low.  Having  sold  for  cash,  I  supposed  I  might  reclaim  the 
goods,  or  take  them  with  a  writ  of  replevin  ;  but,  after  due 
inquiry,  found  that  he  had  me,  and  that  I  was  only  one  of  a 
score  he  had  swindled  in  the  same  way,  within  a  few  weeks. 
I  learned,  also,  that  he  WHS  believed  to  be  crazy  —  having 
been  at  the  battle  of  North  Point  —  from  which  he  ran  away 
in  an  agony  of  terror,  gasping  out,  when  questioned  on  the 
road,  "  Oh,  you've  no  conception  !  you've  no  conception  ! " 
He  was  thought  to  be  rather  dangerous,  too. 

Nevertheless,  I  called  upon  him  once  more,  and  for  the  last 
time  ;  and,  notwithstanding  his  indignation,  succeeded  in  ob 
taining  a  check  for  the  amount ;  assuring  him,  as  I  left  the 
store,  that,  if  I  did  not  find  it  good  on  presentation,  he  would 
hear  from  me  again  ;  which  he  thought  was  adding  insult  to 
robbery.  But  1  had  no  occasion  to  call  again.  The  check 
was  paid,  though  it  left  nothing  over ;  and  so  was  I. 

Not  long  after  this,  a  stranger  came  into  my  store,  and 
began  overhauling  our  goods,  but  in  such  a  way  as  to  ex 
cite  my  suspicious.  When  he  asked  the  price,  he  would 
never  look  at  the  article,  and  always  managed,  as  I  remem- 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  157 

bered  after  he  had  gone  away,  to  keep  between  me  and  the 
door,  as  if  prepared  to  escape,  at  a  moment's  notice.  After 
he  had  been  none  a  few  minutes,  a  neighbor.  Mr.  Sellers,  came 
in  to  see  me  ;  roaring  with  laughter,  so  that,  for  a  while,  he 
could  not  make  himself  understood.  At  last,  the  matter  was 
explained.  It  seems  that  the  stranger  had  mistaken  me  for 
poor  Wells;  that,  beinir  curious  to  see  how  he  would  behave, 
lie  had  come  into  his  store,  as  lie  believed,  and  soon  satisfied 
himself  that  he  had  never  met  with  anybody,  out  of  a  lunatic 
hospital,  half  so  mad,  or  half  so  dangerous.  By  the  merest 
accident.  Mr.  Sellers  happened  to  ask  if  Wells  were  still  at 
larjje,  pointing  across  the  street,  to  the  shop  he  did  business 
in.  This  led  to  further  explanation;  but  the  joke  was  too 
good  to  be  lost ;  and  out  of  this  trivial  incident  <;re\v  the 
story  that  I  myself  was  mad  as  a  March  hare.  And  for  a 
long  while,  after  I  began  to  write  for  the  public,  I  was  often 
called  "  CYazv  Xeal  ; ''  and  there  are  thousands  of  people 
now  living,  who  could  not  be  persuaded  that  I  was  not  fairly 
entitled  to  the  appellation,  though  at  times  I  may  have  been 
quite  rational  since. 

Another  business  incident,  and  I  have  done.  At  my  first 
arrival  in  Baltimore.  I  boarded  with  a  Mrs.  Ward  in  Calvert 
Street.  Among  her  boarders  were  a  Mr.  Smiley  and  a  Mr. 
Teneyck,  from  Xe\v  Jersey.  Smiley,  who  was  a  fresh-looking, 
pleasant  fellow,  and  a  "man  of  family,"  as  he  called  himself, 
was  after  a  store,  with  a  view  to  the  wholesale  dry-goods 
business.  Teneyck  had  been  associated  with  him  before,  in 
some  way.  But  a  store  was  not  to  be  had  just  then,  and 
goods  were  scarce.  At  last.  Mr.  Dennis  A.  Smith,  cashier  of 
the  Mechanics'  Bank,  a  man  of  great  wealth  at  the  time, 
and  large  views  and  liberal  enterprise,  determined  to  go  into 
the  importing  business,  by  way  of  starting  Baltimore  ahead 
once  more,  and  setting  an  example  to  others,  who  had  allowed 
the  wholesale  importing  business  to  die  out.  of  sheer  inani 
tion.  Having  imported  a  large  cargo  of  British  manufactures, 
they  were  offered  for  sale  at  auction,  on  six,  twelve,  and 
eighteen  months  —  a  credit  unheard  of,  at  the  time.  This 
brought  in  the  Western  traders  by  scores  and  scores,  prepared 
to  buy  on  the  terms  proposed,  and  then  pay  cash,  and  take  the 
discount. 


158  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

One  day,  Siniley  called  on  me  with  a  proposition  to  indorse 
his  notes  to  Mr.  Smith  for  whatever  he  might  purchase,  offer 
ing  me  the  usual  commissions.  I  refused  without  hesitation  : 
he  persisted  ;  and  so  did  I.  Nevertheless,  he  went  to  the 
sale,  and  bought  ten  or  twelve  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
goods,  for  which  he  promised  to  give  my  name.  Of  course, 
I  was  indignant,  and  told  him  he  must  take  the  consequences. 
I  reminded  him  of  our  conversation,  and  of  my  positive 
refusal.  He  had  no  excuse  to  offer,  he  said :  he  knew  well, 
that  he  had  no  right  to  offer  my  name;  but  having  men 
tioned  half  a  doxeu  others  —  retailers,  and  comparative  stran 
gers,  by  the  by,  along  Market -Street,  all  of  whom  had  been 
refused  with  a  smile,  for  most  of  them  were  doing  business  in 
a  very  small  way  —  he  finally  gave  my  name.  "  What!  "  said 
Mr.  Smith,  "John  Neal,  of  Calvert  Street?"  —  "Yes."  — 
"Very  well,  sir,  that  paper  will  be  satisfactory."  —  "And 
now,"  added  my  enterprising  gentleman,  "  if  you  refuse,  I  am 
ruined  for  ever." 

"  And  you  deserve  to  be  ruined  for  ever,"  said  I,  "  after 
such  a  distinct  refusal,  and  may  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  you 
got  in,  without  my  help.  Why  not  go  to  May  hew  and  Hurt, 
or  some  other  commission  house,  and  lodge  the  goods  with 
them  ?  If  they  are  well  purchased,  you  will  have  no  diffi 
culty." —  "Very  true;  but,  then,  what  will  Mr.  Smith  say?" 
—  "Say!  —  nothing  to  your  disadvantage,  you  maybe  sure, 
if  he  takes  their  indorsement,  instead  of  mine." 

He  then  proposed  to  allow  me  double  commissions,  to  store 
the  goods  in  my  cellar,  to  sell  nothing  without  my  consent, 
and  to  turn  over  the  notes  -and  cash,  as  fast  as  he  received  the 
pay,  so  that  I  should  run  no  risk,  and  would  be  always  secure, 
in  any  event.  But  no:  I  refused.  My  credit  was  good  — 
unbounded,  I  might  say;  yet,  if  my  name  were  found  upon 
paper  in  the  market,  who  would  ever  know  for  how  much,  or 
under  what  circumstances,  it  had  been  issued,  or  that  I  was 
secured  ?  No,  no  :  I  should  be  thought  adventurous,  and  per 
haps  rash  ;  and  my  credit,  if  I  should  ever  want  credit  for  my 
own  purposes,  would  be  swamped. 

WThereupon,  the  gentleman  left  me,  held  a  consultation  with 
my  partners,  and  finally  prevailed  upon  them  to  say  yes. 
The  result  was,  that  my  name,  not  theirs,  went  upon  Smiley 's 


BUSINESS    OPERATIONS    CONTINUED.  159 

paper  :  the  sroods  were  lodged  in  my  cellar  ;  and,  for  a  week 
or  two,  he  went  up  and  down  all  day  long,  with  such  custom 
ers  as  he  could  entrap,  or  make  sure  of.  with  his  drag-net. 
At  the  end  of  this  time,  pitying  the  poor  fellow,  with  his  large 
family,  six  children  and  a  wit'e.  I  called  him  into  my  counting- 
room,  and  said.  tfc  Take  away  your  goods:  open  a  store  in 
Market  Street,  as  you  may  now.  You  are  welcome  to  the 
commissions  you  were  to  pay.  I  shall  charge  you  nothing  for 
my  services:  but,  if  any  thing  happens  to  you,  promise  to  hold 
mi'  secure." 

The  man  was  utterly  overwhelmed.  Tears  filled  his  eyes  ; 
he  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Such  a  proposition  was 
whollv  unexpected,  and  his  protestations  were  all  I  could 
have  desired.  Within  six  months,  he  failed,  paid  nothing; 
and  when  questioned  about  his  business,  and  asked  what 
had  become  of  all  his  goods,  and  where  certain  persons  lived 
to  whom  he  had  sold  large  amounts  —  he  didn't  know, 
couldn't  say :  they  had  "  happened  in  promiscuously  "  and 
he  had  never  seen  them  before,  nor  since.  Nevertheless,  the 
fellow  was  discharged  under  the  insolvent  laws  of  Maryland; 
then  arrested  for  dealing  in  counterfeit  money,  tried  and 
acquitted,  and  was  never  heard  of  more.  So  much  for 
business  —  the  last  I  ever  meddled  with  in  copartnership. 


160  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER  XL 

LAW  AND   LITERATURE. 

BREAKING  TIP  AND  SEPARATION;  LAW  STUDIES  AT  BALTIMORE;  PROS 
PECTS?  FIRST  NEWSPAPER  ESSAY;  THE  DELPHIANS;  FIKST  NOVEL; 
OTHERS;  RA3TGE  OK  STI'DY  FOR  AN  AMERICAN  LAWYER;  RETURN  TO 
PORTLAND,  ME.,  AND  SET  MY  TRAP  AS  A  LAWYER. 

WE  were  all  adrift  now  —  Pierpont,  Lord,  and  myself;  my 
two  partners,  with  a  large  family  each;  arid  I,  altogether 
alone,  or,  as  Coleridge  would  say,  with  that  moaning  cry 
which,  once  heard,  is  heard  for  ever,  as  from  a  shipwrecked 
sea-bird  afloat  with  a  broken  wing,  ';  Alone,  alone  —  all,  all 
alone  —  alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea;"  and  all  alike  destitute 
and  helpless  —  Pierpont  wholly  unfitted  for  business,  Lord 
whirling  about  in  a  deplorable  eddy,  from  which  it  seemed  quite 
impossible  to  escape,  and  I  desperate  enough  for  any  thing, 
short  of  the  highway. 

As  I  have  said  before.  Pierpont  had  been  seriously  think 
ing  of  the  ministry,  and  had  already  committed  himself  to 
Unitarianism,  by  appearing  at  a  convocation  of  "  Liberal 
Christians,"  held  one  sabbath-day,  in  Poor  &  Co.'s  large 
auctton-rooms,  on  South  Charles  -  Street,  where  he  led  the 
services  in  some  way,  as  I  understood  at  the  time,  although 
he  was  of  Orthodox  parentage,  and  had  sat  for  many  years 
under  the  battle-axe  and  catapulta  demonstrations  of  Dr. 
Lyman  Beech er,  of  whom  he  always  had  the  highest  opinion, 
as  a  controversialist ;  and,  up  to  the  time  of  his  own  change 
of  opinion,  which  others  called  apostasy,  as  a  theologian. 
But  how  was  he  to  maintain  himself?  And  how  dispose  of  a 
wife  and  three  children  ?  After  consulting  together,  much  as 
so  many  shipwrecked  mariners  might  be  supposed  to  do, 
upon  a  rock  in  mid-ocean,  it  was  agreed  between  us,  netn. 
con.,  that  he  should  send  off  his  wife  and  children  to  Litch- 
field,  Conn.,  where  his  wife's  mother  lived  on  a  family- 
estate,  which  had  been  largely  improved  by  the  funds  of  the 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  161 

copartnership  ;  while  lie  remained  at  Baltimore,  in  lodgings, 
the  cheapest  he  could  manage  to  pay  for — no  matter  how  — 
by  pledging  or  selling  what  teaspoons  he  had  left,  as  long  as 
they  lasted.  This  plan  was  carried  out  ;  and  he  took  a 
chamber  in  North  Ho  ward -Street,  where  he  remained  till 
he  had  brought  forth  the  ••  Airs  of  Palestine."  which  lie  de 
livered  before  a  gathering  in  Baltimore  College,  at  the  slices- 
tion  of  our  friend.  Dr.  Watkins,  whereby  he  obtained  about 
enough  to  take  him  to  Cambridge,  where  after  selling  the  copy 
right  for  a  hundred  dollars  or  so.  he  entered  as  a  theological 
student,  and  continued  until  he  was  wanted  for  actual  ser 
vice  :  and  soon  after  settled  over  the  Ilollis-street  Church, 
Boston,  a>  the  immediate  successor  of  our  celebrated  Dr. 
Iloliey. 

1  was  to  enter  with  Colonel  Learned,  as  a  student  at  law, 
after  winding  up  the  retail-business,  which  I  had  re-entered 
upon,  at  the  desire  of  our  assignees,  with  all  the  cut  stock  of 
our  two  wholesale  jobbing  establishments,  and  the  remains  of 
our  Charleston  adventure.  And  this  part  of  the  programme 
I  carried  out-;  entering  Learned's  office  within  two  or  three 
months,  until,  having  become  acquainted  with  the  late  Gen 
eral  Winder  (William  II.)  at  the  Delphian  Club,  of  which 
we  were  both  members,  he  made  a  proposition,  which  I  ac 
cepted  with  great  thankfulness:  after  which  I  studied  under 
his  direction,  till  admitted  to  the  bar.  though  alwavs  at  my 
own  lodgings,  about  a  mile  from  town.  1  had  access  to  all 
the  best  libraries,  by  common  consent ;  and  have  to  acknowl 
edge  my  obligations,  not  only  to  General  Winder,  but  to 
Professor  Hoffman,  Mr.  Met  calf.  William  Gwynn,  and 
others,  for  their  liberality  and  uninterrupted  kindness  to  the 
last,  when  I  had  got  together  a  very  handsome  library  of  my 
own,  even  for  that  part  of  the  world,  where  they  have  always 
been  famous  for  their  law  libraries. 

But  as  Mr.  Lord  —  "  our  Joe  "  —  had  no  inclination  for  the 
law,  and  less  for  the  ministry,  it  was  determined  that  he 
should  be  left  to  shift  for  himself,  being  full  of  resources,  and 
especially  given  to  shifts.  Before  a  month  had  £one  by, 
after  we  had  obtained  our  discharge  under  the  insolvent  laws 
of  .Maryland,  notwithstanding  the  most  deadly  opposition  from 
the  house  of  George  Grundv  and  Sons,  who  failed  soon  after 

"  11 


1G2  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

sending*  Mr.  Pierpont  to  prison,  as  I  told  them  they  would, 
and  ou^Jit,  although,  at  the  time,  they  were  supposed  to  be 
almost  beyond  the  reacli  of  calamity,  or  accident,  the  father, 
a  most  unrelenting  old  Scotchman,  though  otherwise  well 
enough  disposed,  never  having  been  able  to  forgive  Mr.  Pier 
pont  for  the  letters  he  took  to  him,  when  he  first  went  to 
Baltimore  —  before  a  month  had  gone  by,  as  I  was  about  to 
say,  "our  Joe  "  had  entered  into  three  or  four  speculations — 
only  one  of  which  proved  disastrous,  though  all  were,  in  my 
judgment,  both  hazardous  and  questionable  —  whereby  he 
managed  to  keep  his  chin  above  water.  At  last,  being  tired 
of  adventure,  he  left  Baltimore,  went  back  to  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Boston,  and  took  some  kind  of  agency  at  Taunton, 
where  he  remained  till  circumstances  led  him  to  New  York  ; 
and  there,  after  trying  his  hand  at  a  variety  of  expedients,  with 
a  correspondent  success  — now  up,  and  now  down  —  he  com 
bined  with  two  or  three  more  long-headed,  liberal,  and  saga 
cious  business-men,  and  undertook  to  establish  a  new  system 
of  mutual  life-assurance  —  new,  at  any  rate,  in  this  country, 
though  a  London  loan-office  had  been  established  for  several 
years  on  a  similar  principle  — that  of  lending  to  the  assured 
a  part  of  the  annual  premium,  or,  in  other  words,  giving 
them  credit  for  a  part,  upon  the  best  and  most  available 
security  ;  out  of  which  sprang  that  wonder  of  modern  com 
mercial  finance,  the  Mutual-Benefit  Life -Insurance  Company 
of  New  Jersey,  with  its  millions  upon  millions  of  capital,  and 
a  business  overspreading  the  whole  country.  In  this,  he 
continued  until  his  death,  about  a  year  ago  ;  having  estab 
lished  a  most  enviable  reputation,  and  made  himself  a  bene 
factor  to  his  race. 

Having  entered  as  a  student  at  law,  the  next  question  was, 
How  shall  I  support  myself?  I  thought  of  the  pen  ;  but 
how  could  I  hope  to  earn  a  living  in  that  way  ?  We  had  not 
more  than  half  a  dozen  authors  ;  and  of  these,  only  Washing 
ton  Irving  had  received  more  than  enough  to  pay  for  the  salt 
in  his  porridge.  And  with  our  editors,  it  was  yet  worse. 
Only  two  that  I  could  hear  of —  Robert  Walsh,  Jr.,  Esq.,  the 
"•American  Gentleman,"  as  he  called  himself;  and  Paul  Allen, 
editor,  first  of  "  Bronsou's  United-States  Gazette,"  and  then  of 
the  Baltimore  "  Federal  Republican  "  —  were  employed  and 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  163 

paid  in  that  capacity.  All  the  rest  were  proprietors,  occasionals, 
or  supernumeraries,  often  government-officials,  leading  poli 
ticians,  and  statesmen,  who  were  glad  to  ••  work  for  nothing, 
and  find  themselves.''  in  that  Held.  What  chance  had  I  then, 
without  experience,  or  with  the  little  I  am  about  to  mention, 
as  a  writer,  and  whollv  ignorant  of  politics,  beyond  what  I 
had  gathered  from  Aristotle  and  the  "  Federalist."  and  having 
no  idea  of  the  duties,  responsibilities,  or  anxieties  of  an 
editor? 

And  inasmuch  as  the  best  of  English  books  might  be  had 
for  the  asking,  after  they  were  established  in  public  favor, 
and  might  be  reproduced  here  from  the  printed  page,  with 
much  less  delay,  trouble,  and  expense,  than  from  the  plainest 
manuscript  —  how  hopeless  for  an  American  author,  wholly 
unknown,  even  at  home,  to  think  of  earning  a  dollar,  as  a 
bookwright  !  Nevertheless,  I  determined  to  try.  I  had 
given  up  business:  I  had  turned  my  back  on  all  kinds  of 
copartnership,  even  that  of  an  auctioneer,  for  which  I  think 
now  I  was  pre-eminently  fitted  :  and  there  was  nothing  left 
for  me  but  authorship,  or  starvation,  if  I  persisted  in  my  plan 
of  studying  law,  and  maintaining  myself  bv  mv  pen,  although 
it  should  be  on  potatos  and  salt. 

And  if  my  chances  in  the  world  of  literature  were  dis 
couraging,  they  were  really  worse  for  me.  in  every  way,  as  a 
student  at  law.  In  the  tirst  place,  I  should  have  to  study 
four  vears.  and  then  pass  a  terrible  examination,  before  beinrt 

•  I  O 

admitted  to  practice.  In  the  next  place,  1  had  no  education  ; 
having  left  school  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  gone  behind  a 
counter,  where  my  education  was  completed  for  life.  Add  to 
all  this,  that  I  was  a  broken  merchant,  that  I  had  failed  in 
business,  that  I  was  rather  waspish,  if  not  quarrelsome,  and 
that  I  was  a  native  Yankee,  never  much  of  a  recommenda 
tion  at  the  South,  and  less  -at  Baltimore,  perhaps,  than  almost 
any  where  else.  Maryland  being  a  border  State,  and  the 
people  being  fully  persuaded  that  all  eastward  of  them  were 
the  true  Yankees  —  dealers  in  cuckoo-lock<.  horn  gun-flints, 
and  wooden-nutmegs  ;  and  to  complete  the  catalogue  of  my 
disqualifications  for  the  Baltimore-bar,  then  the  ablest  of  our 
country,  and  by  far  the  haughtiest,  we  had.  for  daily  prac 
titioners,  William  Piukney,  William  Wirt,  Robert  Goodloe 


164  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Harper,  Luther  Martin.  Roger  B.  Taney,  Reverdy  Johnson, 
Charles  A.  Mayer,  David  Hoffman,  William  II.  Winder, 
Jonathan  Meredith,  and  a  score  or  t\vo  of  others,  well  worth 
mentioning,  if  this  were  a  proper  occasion.  And  then,  too, 
the  "  law's  delay  "  —  how  utterly  discouraging,  both  for 
suitors  and  lawyers ;  even  the  plainest  cases,  if  disputed 
being  continued  from  term  to  term,  and  from  year  to  year, 
till  they  resembled  bills  in  chancery,  as  they  are  continued 
from  generation  to  generation,  over  sea,  where  large  estates 
are  in  issue. 

Supposing  me.  then,  to  have  gone  through  with  my  course 
of  study  —  fed  by  the  ravens,  for  at  least  four  years  —  how 
was  I  to  get  along  for  the  next  seven  years,  against  such  a 
bar,  and  such  a  host  of  competitors,  already  established  in 
public  favor,  and  well  provided  for,  either  by  marriage  or 
otherwise?  Who  would  run  the  risk  of  retaining  a  stranger, 
a  new  man,  or  even  of  employing  him,  while  there  were  so 
many  older,  in  the  field,  with  reputations  at  stake,  who, 
by  their  positions  in  the  world,  had  given  pledges  for  their 
good  behavior,  and  were  not  likely  to  abuse  their  tr.ust,  or  to 
run  off  with  the  funds  of  a  client. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  have  said  before,  I  determined  to  perse 
vere  ;  and  I  did.  But  how  ?  In  the  first  place,  I  began  with 
studying  fourteen  and  sixteen  hours  a  day  ;  going  through  a 
course  of  law,  of  metaphysics,  languages,  and  literature  ;  read 
ing  history,  both  in  French  and  English,  and  Political  Econ 
omy,  as  Adam  Smith  himself,  or  Ricardo,  would  have  advised 
me  to  do ;  and  then  writing,  as  I  shall  mention  hereafter,  two 
or  three  volumes  a  month  of  miscellany,  for  the  papers  and 
the  public. 

To  show  that  I  was  in  downright  earnest,  let  me  mention 
two  or  three  facts  here,  leaving  the  details  of  my  career,  as  an 
author,  to  be  set  forth  hereafter. 

Soon  after  I  had  entered  upon  the  study  of  law,  and  while 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  reading,  upon  the  average,  over  three 
hundred  pages  a  day,  and  of  carrvinsj  my.  books  of  reference 
by  the  armful,  to  and  fro,  between  my  lodgings  on  Saratoga 
Street,  a  long  way  out  of  town,  and  the  libraries  they  belonged 
to,  my  friend  Pierpont  —  who  had  gone  through  a  course  of 
lectures  with  Judges  Reeves  and  Gould,  in  their  celebrated 


LAVT    AND    LITERATURE.  165 

law-school,  at  Litchfield,  Conn.,  and  who  had  made  a  beauti 
ful  copy  in  four  large  volumes,  with  all  their  private  notes 
and  memoranda,  lie  being  a  favored  pupil  —  said  to  me.  one 
dav,  that  he  had  sold  his  copy  for  two  hundred  dollars  to 
a  you  nil  Southerner,  who  had  been  two  or  three  years  at 
Litchfield.  and  spent  some  thousands  of  dollars,  and  had  noth 
ing  to  show  for  it. 

"You  must  read  these  lectures,  John."  said  he.  "  before 
they  are  sent  away.  They  are  a  library  of  themselves  ;  and. 
if  it  were  possible  for  you  to  copv  them,  they  would  save  vou 
hundreds  of  dollars.  But  there!  it's  no  use  talking:  thev 
Avill  be  wanted  in  a  few  weeks  ;  and  if  you  should  be  able  to 
read  them  in  that  time,  it  is  all  we  can  hope  for  now." 

"  How  long  would  it  take  me  to  copy  them,  think  you?" 

"Oh!  I  was  fifteen  months  about  it.  working  early  and 
late  ;  and,  if  you  had  time,  you  would  never  have  the  pa 
tience."  And  he  believed  what  he  said,  for  he  did  not  then 
know  me  :  but  I  thought  otherwise. 

"Well."  said  I,  "if  copying  them  is  wholly  out  of  the 
question,  there  is,  at  least,  one  tiling  I  can  do.  I  can  read 
thwn  carefully  ;  and  then,  should  there  be  any  time  left,  I 
can  begin  to  copy  them,  at  least." 

And  so  to  work  I  went,  and  finished  a  thorough  reading  of 
the  whole  within  two  weeks,  at  the  furthest  —  greatly  to  the 
amazement  of  my  friend,  who.  upon  talking  freely  with  me, 
found  that  I  knew  as  much  of  these  four  volumes,  containing 
over  two  thousand  pages  of  manuscript,  as  he  knew  of  Black- 
stone,  after  reading  all  day  long,  from  early  dawn  till  it  was 
time  to  go  to  bed.  in  South  Carolina,  and  achieving  for  once,  one 
hundred  pages,  the  greatest  day's  work  he  ever  did  in  his  life,  he 
said  ;  while  I  could  read  three  hundred  pages  a  dav,  without 
fatigue.  And  why  ?  In  the  first  place.  I  had  been  a  ^reat 
reader  from  my  earliest  youth,  and  always  read  to  mvself, 
without  pronouncing  the  words;  while  he  read  to  himself,  as 
if  reading  aloud  to  others,  and  could  not  understand  his  author, 
unless  he  did  so.  This  I  believe  to  be  the  essential  difference 
in  our  methods  of  studv.  How  many  persons  have  I  seen, 
who  read  so  slowly  and  so  thoughtfully,  that  they  seemed  to  lose 
the  spirit  of  their  author;  while  another  —  Judge  Story,  for 
example  —  would  run  his  eye  down  through  the  middle  of  a 


1G6  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

page,  and  take  in  the  whole  drift,  and  almost  the  language,  of 
a  law-case,  without  labor,  and  without  danger  of  misappre 
hension.  This  I  never  did,  nor  ever  attempted  to  do.  Not 
a  word  escaped  me.  not  a  passage  did  I  ever  slur  over  —  not 
a  letter  indeed  ;  for  an  error  in  orthography,  or  in  type,  I 
always  detected,  as  quickly  as  the  most  careful  and  experienced 
proof-reader.  But  this  I  must  acknowledge.  As  I  began  with 
reading  letter  by  letter,  so  I  went  on,  reading  syllables,  then 
words,  and  at  last  whole  phrases  at  a  glance,  until  I  had 
acquired  a  facility  in  serious  reading,  only  to  be  matched  by 
that  of  the  most  thorough-going  novel-reader. 

Having  worked  my  way  through  the  whole  four  volumes 
of  manuscript,  page  by  page,  without  slurring  or  skipping  a 
paragraph.  I  determined  to  try  my  hand  at  copying ;  and  to 
get  as  much  out  of  it  as  I  could,  before  it  should  be  called 
for  —  having  no  idea  that  I  could  finish  the  work  in  less  than 
a  twelvemonth,  although  I  was  a  very  rapid  writer,  because 
it  needed  to  be  carefully  and  plainly  written,  without  flour 
ishes.  With  a  view  to  compactness,  I  adopted  a  back  hand, 
which  I  wrote  with  uncommon  facility  and.  I  must  say,  with 
marvellous  distinctness.  And  so  Mr.  Pierpont  himself  thought ; 
for,  in  finding  one  of  my  pages  equal  to  about  one  and  a  half 
of  his,  and  quite  as  easily  read,  though  he  was  a  beautiful 
writer,  he  gave  up  his  own  style  of  penmanship  and  adopted 
mine,  which  he  continued  to  practise,  until  long  after  he  entered 
the  ministry. 

The  first  day,  I  wrote  only  five  pages,  though  I  did  nothing 
else,  I  believe ;  but  the  marginal  references  were  abundant, 
and  my  writing  as  clear  as  print  —  so  everybody  said  at 
the  time,  who  had  an  opportunity  of  judging.  But  I  perse 
vered,  like  Milo  in  carrying  the  calf,  or  as  Winship  does  now, 
in  upheaving  the  foundations  about  him,  until  I  wrote  fifty 
pages  a  day,  with  all  the  references  and  marginal  notes,  made 
by  Judges  Reeves  and  Gould  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  ;  both 
eminent  lawyers,  and  the  latter  among  the  best,  if  not  in  fact  the 
very  best,  special-pleader  that  ever  lived,  not  excepting  Saun- 
ders  himself;  finishing  the  whole  four  volumes  in  seventy- 
five  days,  and  the  last  volume,  containing  about  five  hundred 
pages,  with  a  new  and  complete  index,  in  ten  days.  From 
this  time  forward,  Mr.  Pierpont  never  doubted  my  ability  to 


LATV    AND    LITERATURE.  167 

carry  through  whatever  I  undertook,  liit  or  miss  ;  out  of  which 
settled  convictions  grew  other  enterprises,  of  which  I  shall 
have  something  to  say  hereafter. 

Ahont  this  time  —  and  this  incident  is  the  second  which  I 
think  may  come  in  here  to  advantage,  for  the  encouragement  of 
others,  who  mav  he  called  upon  to  make  bricks  without  straw 
—  I  achieved  the  following  triumph. 

Professor  Hoffman  —  David  Hoffman  —  of  the  Maryland 
Universitv,  one  of  the  most  amiable  men  I  ever  knew,  and 
one  of  the  most  learned  jurisprudents,  with  a  magnificent 
library,  which  he  opened  to  me  without  restriction,  had  just 
brought  out  his  "  Course  of  Leiral  Studv,''  which,  according 

^  O 

to  his  calculation,  and  he  was  one  of  the  hardest  students  of 
our  age.  would  require  either  five  or  seven  years,  I  forget 
which,  for  the  long  course,  and  about  three  years  for  the 
shorter.  Instead  of  being  intimidated  by  this  "Outline," 
as  others  were,  who  passed  for  diligent  readers,  about  me, 
I  was  seized  with  a  vehement  desire  to  read  every  book 
mentioned  by  him.  as  fast  as  they  could  be  had  ;  for  even  he 
had  given  the  titles  of  some  which  1  never  met  with,  nor  I 
believe  had  he.  Within  the  next  following  fifteen  or  sixteen 
months.  I  had  gone  through  with  the  whole  course,  reading 
many  of  the  books  twice  over  :  though  a  very  few.  not  more 
than  a  dozen  perhaps.  I  was  obliged  to  forego,  for  the  reasons 
above  mentioned.  About  this  time.  Judge  Story  wrote  a  review 
of  the  "  Course,"  which  appeared  in  the  "  North-American," 
declaring  it  by  far  the  most  comprehensive  and  satisfactory 
system  that  had  ever  appeared ;  but  insisting  that  seven 
years  would  be  required,  seven  years  at  least,  to  do  it  justice; 
and  he  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  hardest  students  that  ever 
tunnelled  his  way  into  the  profession.  This  onlv  served  to 
set  me  going  anew  :  and  I  never  rested,  until  I  had  gone 
through  with  the  long  course,  and  prepared  a  series  of  note 
books,  after  a  plan  suggested  by  the  author,  of  the  same  size, 
and  so  bound  as  to  match  the  •'  Law  Lectures  "  of  Reeves  and 
Gould  in  four  volumes,  quarto.  One  was  entitled  "  Uncom 
mon  Titles,  with  Obita  Dicta,  Queries,  Doubts,  and  Solutions  ;  " 
a  second.  "  Remarkable  and  Leading  Cases  ;  "  and  a  third, 
"  Cases  Denied.  Doubted,  and  Modified  "  —  containing  more 
cases,  forty  years  ago.  than  were  to  be  found  in  the  latest 


168  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

edition  of"  Greenleaf's  Cases."  Nor  was  this  all;  for,  in  the 
progress  of  my  preliminary  survey,  I  discovered  that  a  mul 
titude  of  English  statutes,  aboriginal  in  their  character,  had 
been  recognized  by  solemn  adjudication  in  our  Maryland 
courts,  after  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  though  never 
formally  re-enacted ;  so  that,  in  a  certain  sense,  they  consti 
tuted  a  part  of  our  common-law.  All  these  I  abridged  with 
great  care,  and  had  them  bound  up  to  match  the  others  ;  and 
all  these,  too,  I  had  carefully  preserved,  through  all  changes 
and  chances,  up  to  the  great  fire  of  July,  18GG,  when  they 
disappeared  for  ever  —  a  library  of  themselves,  together  with 
all  that  was  left  of  what  was  one  of  the  handsomest  law- 
libraries  in  this  part  of  the  country ;  to  say  nothing  of  rari 
ties  and  miscellanies,  many  of  which,  in  different  languages, 
can  never  be  replaced. 

Aug.  13,  1867.  —  Another  long  interval;  and,  lo !  I  am 
again  at  work  upon  this,  my  favorite  occupation.  The  city  is 
going  up  silently  about  me,  on  every  side,  as  to  the  rhythm  of 
inward,  or  far-off  music  from  the  sea,  and  my  labors  in  that 
direction  are  now  over,  I  trust  for  life ;  so  that,  for  my  re 
maining  days,  I  shall  have  to  depend  upon  my  books  and  my 
pen  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief.  And  for  how  long  a  time  ? 
Who  shall  say  ?  Who  will  hazard  even  a  conjecture  ?  This 
very  day,  while  the  young  and  vigorous,  and  even  the  middle- 
aged,  are  passing  away,  like  shadows,  from  the  great  thorough 
fare  of  the  world,  now  dwindling  to  a  solitary  footpath  for  the 
few  that  are  left,  I  met  a  woman  already  mentioned  among 
the  earliest  of  these  memoranda,  Mrs.  Abigail  Horton,  other 
wise  called  "  Aunt  Nabby,"  now  in  her  ninety-fifth  year,  and 
looking  as  hearty  and  fresh  as  when  she  was  thirty  years 
younger,  so  far  as  I  can  judge ;  and  I  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  seeing  her,  from  year  to  year,  almost  ever  since  my  return 
from  abroad.  She  was  walking  through  the  burnt-district, 
for  the  first  time  since  the  fire,  having  with  her  a  young 
Quakeress,  who  called  her  mother,  and  who  appeared  to  enjoy 
her  companionship,  as  if  they  were  both  of  an  age.  That 
this  mother  in  Israel  enjoys  life,  nobody  would -think  of 
doubting ;  but,  though  willing  to  stay,  she  is  equally  willing 
to  go,  if  her  heavenly  Father  calls  her,  and  hopes  he  may 
not  allow  her  to  become  a  burden  to  herself  or  to  others. 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  169 

With  sight  and  hearing  about  as  good  as  ever,  all  her  facul 
ties  in  a  healthy  condition,  and  her  bodily  strength  undiinin- 
ished,  why  may  she  not  expect  to  outlive  another  generation 
of  the  enervated  and  ^elf-abused  of  our  day? 

l>ut  let  us  return.  I  had  now  entered  upon  a  new  career 
—  with  life  or  death  before  me —  with  little  to  encourage, 
and  more  than  would  be  thought  possible  now.  to  dishearten 
me.  I  was  now  in  my  twenty-fourth  year ;  and  the  better 
part  of  my  life,  I  then  thought,  had  been  wasted.  But  I  was 
mistaken  :  I  misunderstood  the  great  problem  before  me  ;  I 
had  always  been  at  school,  without  knowing  it :  and,  so  far  as 
human  nature  is  concerned,  I  do  believe  that  I  had  learned 
more  behind  the  counter  than  I  have  ever  learned  since. 
Among  other  things.  I  had  learned  to  reverence  mvself — to 
see  that  I  was  intended  by  my  heavenly  Father  tor  some 
thing  holier,  ami  better,  and  more  useful,  than  I  had  ever 
thought  of  being,  till  I  was  a  castaway,  utterly  shipwrecked, 
and  drifting  J  knew  not  whither.  oS'ot  that,  even  yet,  I  had 
any  definite  notions  of  what  1  was  ifood  for:  but  I  felt  that 
my  wings  were  moulting,  and  that,  in  time,  if  1  did  not  belie 
the  promptings  within  me.  I  should  most  assuredly  iind  out 
what  I  was  capable  of.  and  what  1  was  intended  for.  And  I 
now  think  I  have,  though  rather  late  in  the  day.  And  yet, 
who  knows  but  the  very  hinderances  I  have  met  with  were 
in  reality  helps,  without  which  1  never  should  have  been  able 
to  do  what  I  have  done,  be  it  little  or  much.  To  fail  is  often 
times  better  than  to  succeed  :  we  ?nay  learn  more  by  running 
our  heads  against  a  stone-wall,  than  by  missing  it,  and  have 
less  to  answer  for.  At  any  rate,  I  have  ;  and  am  now  able  to 
see,  and  willing  to  acknowledge,  with  profound  thankfulness, 
that  my  sorest  disappointments  at  the  time  they  happened, 
and  my  heaviest  misfortunes,  have  always  turned  out  to  be 
my  greatest  blessings,  wherever  they  were  taken  as  admo 
nitions  and  warnings,  and  turned  wisely  to  account. 

But  although  I  had  entered  upon  the  study  of  the  law, 
which  would  require  at  least  four  years'  apprenticeship  —  for, 
whatever  were  my  qualifications,  I  could  not  be  admitted  in 
less  time  —  I  had  no  means  of  support,  visible  or  invisible. 
True,  I  had  been  writing  for  the  "  Portico,"  a  monthly  at 
first,  and  then  a  quarterly,  carried  on  by  the  somewhat  cele- 


170  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

brated  Dr.  Tobias  TTatkius,  Assistant  Surgeon-General  of  the 
United-States  Army,  and  afterward  a  Fourth-Auditor,  if  I  do 
not  mistake  ;  and  then  a  prisoner  to  the  unrelenting  President 
Jackson,  as  an  alleged  defaulter ;  but  then,  though  I  had  writ 
ten  what  amounted  to  a  good-sized  volume,  I  had  never 
received  the  first  farthing  for  my  labor.  I  had  also  written 
occasional  pages  of  poetry  —  and  some  of  it  was  poetry  —  for 
the  "  Wanderer,"  a  weakly  affair,  which  did  not  last  above  a 
twelvemonth  or  so  —  at  the  same  price  ;  in  fact,  it  was  there 
that  I  made  my  first  appearance  in  print,  '•  except  as  herein 
after  excepted,"  and.  being  very  anonymous,  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  my  verses  attributed  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Duncan,  a 
favorite  pupil  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Mason,  of  New  York, 
and  just  then,  being  newly  established  in  Baltimore,  carrying 
the  city  by  storm  —  the  Presbyterian  part  of  the  population, 
I  should  say;  for  all  who  were  not  taken  off  their  feet  by  his 
originality  and  eloquence  —  they  called  it  eloquence  —  be 
longed  to  another  parish. 

Allow  me  to  suspend  the  narrative  here,  that  I  may  intro 
duce  a  printed  slip  from  the  "  Boston  Centinel "  (spelled  with 
a  C),  the  first  communication  of  mine  that  ever  appeared  in  a 
newspaper,  barring  an  occasional  advertisement,  and  a  few 
lines  I  once  wrote  for  the  "  Hallowell  Gazette"  in  1814. 
Passing  through  Boston,  I  called  on  James  Lee,  my  old  com 
panion,  and  boyish  antagonist ;  and,  while  sitting  by  a  table  in 
his  counting-room,  my  eye  fell  on  a  paragraph,  taken  from 
the  "  National  Intelligencer,"  in  which  the  writer  maintained 
that  the  words  "put  it  in  his  pocket"  which  are  found  in  one 
of  Hamlet's  speeches,  was  a  stage  direction,  which,  by  some 
oversight,  had  crept  into  the  text.  I  was  indignant,  and 
threatened  to  write,,  and  shame  the  fools ;  but  never  should 
have  done  so,  had  not  Lee  asked  me  in  all  seriousness  if  I 
thought  Major  Russell  —  the  great  gun  of  our  New-England 
press  at  the  time  —  would  give  it  a  birth?  Of  course,  that 
determined  me ;  and  I  took  up  a  pen  and  wrote  the  following 
communication,  which  Lee,  when  1  read  it  to  him,  only  laughed 
at  —  having  known  me  from  boyhood.  This  must  have  been  in 
1817,  and  — judging  by  a  date  I  find  on  the  back  of  the  printed 
slip  —  in  the  month  of  September,  when  I  was  entering  my 
twenty-fourth  year.  Rather  late  in  life,  it  must  be  acknowl- 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  171 

edged,  for  a  writer  to  begin  his  career.  But.  nevertheless, 
having  once  entered  this  new  field  of  labor.  I  determined 
never  to  draw  rein,  till  I  had  accomplished  my  destiny  ;  and  I 
have  kept  my  promise. 

"  CRITICISM. 

"MR.  RUSSELL,  —  In  your  paper  of  the  13th  of  August,  I 
observe  an  extract  from  the  'National  Intelligence!','  containing 
a  new  reading  of  the  mighty  Shakspeare,  by  an  admirer  of  his. 
At  first,  sir,  I  believed  it  to  be  what  there  is  but  one  word  in  our 
language  to  express  —  a  hoax;  and  I  laughed  heartilv.  I  have 
been  so  long  wearied  with  the  stupid  illustrations,  and  new 
readings,  of  these  admirers  of  Shakspeare,  that  I  Avas  delighted 
with  what  I  conceived  this  to  be  —  an  exquisite  satire  on 
Johnson,  Warburton.  and  others.  I  am  one  of  those  who  will 
not  allow  the  infallibility  of  Shakspeare  ;  indeed,  I  go  farther 
than  most  men  in  my  censures  of  his  very  best  dramas.  I 
am  one  of  those,  sir.  who  will  allow  that  while  Shakspeare 
traced  his  characters  in  light  —  omnipotent  in  his  hours  of 
greatness  —  and  alone  in  the  delineation  of  motive;  yet,  that 
every  page  is  full  of  absurdity  and  extravagances,  of  a  magni 
tude  infinitely  bevond  the  blunders  of  common  minds.  Shak 
speare  is  always  a  giant  or  a  dwarf.  And  these  extravagances 
and  absurdities  are  often  unnecessary  and  unnatural  ;  for  none 
will  deny  that  even  absurdity  may  be  natural,  and  extrava 
gance  H('ccss(rn/  to  compose  a  part  of  one's  character.  \Vhile 
1  have  believed  all  this.  I  have  always  said.  Leave  that  man 
alone  in  his  simplicity.  I  do  not  like  to  see  your  oaks  shorn 
of  their  luxuriance,  because  they  may  not  stand  in  a  mathe 
matical  attitude.  1  feel  indignant,  whenever  1  take  up  a 
volume  of  the  Bard,  to  observe  the  trumpery  which  dis 
figures  it  :  not  a  page  is  free  from  the  corruptions  of  these 
commentators.  Johnson  and  Warburton,  and  others  of  these 
critics,  would  live  bv  gathering  '  samphire  on  the  precipice.' 
They  have  so  completely  encumbered  the  simplicity  and 
originality  of  Shakspeare  —  and  these  are.  for  ever,  his  dis 
tinguishing  attributes  —  that,  nine  times  out  often,  they  force 
us  to  reflect  and  to  doubt  of  the  meaning  of  passages,  where 
our  very  hearts  would  swell,  if  we  heard  them  pronounced 


172  '  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

in  character,  according  to  common  usage.  Nine  times  out  of 
ten,  they  overload  him  with  rubbish,  instead  of  chiselling  a 
bold  relief,  and  darken  him  in  the  worst  of  eclipses,  that  of 
learning,  instead  of  aiding  the  reader  to  understand  him  in 
the  utmost  extent  of  his  simplicity.  So  had  I  at  first  read 
this.  I  was  delighted.  Again  I  read  it,  and,  to  my  astonish 
ment,  I  found  this  admirer  of  Shakspeare  was  serious.  He 
may  be  an  admirer  of  that  man.  but  he  could  never  under 
stand  him  ;  he  could  only  admire  him  because  others  admired 
him,  or  he  never  wculd  have  put  forth  his  hand  to  add  a  touch 
to  such  a  picture. 

"  To  every  man  who  will  read,  in  the  independence  of  his 
heart,  it  would  be  almost  an  insult  to  say,  that  the  old  reading 
of  a  single  line  contains  a  whole  biography  in  itself.  Shak 
speare.  wrote  and  meant,  and  so  would  every  other  man  mean, 
if  he  should  use  the  same  words,  whatever  were  his  talents  — 
Shakspeare  meant  that  the  Usurper  "  stole  the  diadem  '  —  that 
he  did  not  conquer  it  —  that  he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  in  the 
meanness  of  one  who  had  pilfered  a  treasure,  like  a  shoplifter  ; 
not  with  the  towering  intrepidity  of  one  who  places  his  dia 
dem  on  his  brow,  and  bids  the  world  contend  for  it. 

"  So  stood  the  old  reading ;  and  so  it  will  stand  till  Shak 
speare  burst  from  the  fetters  of  his  commentators,  and  stand, 
with  all  his  errors  on  his  head,  before  a  posterity  who  will 
forget  criticism,  and  appeal  to  feeling. 

"  Now,  mark  the  improvement.  Hamlet  sees  his  father's 
ghost — or  supposes  he  sees  it,  which  is  the  same  thing;  and 
Shakspeare  is  supposed  to  have  represented  his  hero  at  such 
a  fearful  moment  as  having  sufficient  composure  to  put  the 
picture  in  his  pocket,  before  he  suffered  himself  to  be  startled  ! 
Shakspeare  might  as  well  have  set  Hamlet  to  picking  his 
teeth.  U." 

An  article,  by  the  way,  which,  with  a  few  trivial  exceptions, 
I  should  not  be  ashamed  of  now,  after  fifty  years  of  experience 
in  the  world  of  literature. 

While  debating  this  great  question  of  bread-and-butter, 
with  myself,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  try  my  hand  at  a 
story,  or  novel,  to  begin  with  :  and  to  work  I  went,  in  the 
summer  of  181G,  when  I  was  approaching  my  twenty-third 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  173 

year,  and  soon  brought  forth  a  story  in  two  volumes,  which  1 
christened  "Jiul^e,  not  bv  First  Appearances."  This  title 
was  changed  in  the  following  winter  to  "  Keep  Cool/'  which 
appeared  June  17.  1817;  and  then,  before  the  people  at 
Iar<ie  had  recovered  from  their  astonishment.  1  gave  them 
the  "  American  Involution."  by  Paul  Allen;  "  Niagara," 
"  Goldau."  and  other  poems  :  "  Otho."  a  tragedy;  a  \'olume 
or  t\vo  of  miscellaneous  magazine  and  newspaper-essav.s  ;  the 
"  Index  to  Nile>'s  Register ;"_"  Logan,"  ••Seventy-six,''  ••Ran 
dolph/'  and  "  Krrata  :  "  and  all  this.  be  it  remembered,  while  I 
was  writing  voluminously  for  the  Baltimore  "Telegraph,"  and 
preparing  for  admission  to  the  bar. 

And  now.  perhaps,  it  would   not  be  amiss  to  give  a  little 
idea  of  the  marvellous  rapidity  —  "  the  fatal  facility,"  another  . 
would  call   it,  if  he   wrote  slowly  himself,  or  elaborately  — 
with  which  I   threw  off  these  works. 

'•  Logan."  which  re-appeared  over  sea  in  four  volumes,  I 
wrote  in  six  or  eight  weeks,  ending  Nov.  17.  1821  ;  "Ran 
dolph,"  published  here  in  two  volumes.  I  began  Nov.  20, 
1821,  and  finished  in  thirty-six  days;  '•  Errata,  or  Will 
Adams,"  in  two  volumes,  was  begun  Jan,  8.  1822.  and  finished 
in  thirty-nine  days  ;  "  Seventy-Six,"  begun  Feb.  10,  1822,  and 
finished  March  11),  1822  —  four  days  off — in  twenty-seven 
days,  ivpublished  at  London  in  three  volumes:  so  that  be 
tween  October.  1821.  and  March,  1822,  I  wrote  and  pub 
lished  no  le-s  than  eight  large  duodecimos,  which  in  England 
would  have  been  equal  to  thirteen  volumes;  and  this,  while 
pursuing  my  law  studies,  and  writing  for  the  "Telegraph" 
and  the  "  Portico."  Further  details  are  not  needed  here. 
Suffice  it  to  say.  that  I  was  soon  in  the  receipt  of  a  sufficient 
income  for  my  personal  wants,  which  have  always  been 
moderate,  and  for  laving  the  foundations  of  a  handsome 
library  ;  and  that  many  of  these  works  were-  under  way  at 
the  same  time,  while  1  was  reading  law  at  the  rate  of  two 
hundred  page>  a  day.  every  day.  Sundavs  and  holidays  not 
excepted  :  and  studying  four  .>r  five  languages,  after  a  fashion 
of  mv  own.  together  with  historv.  political-economy,  and 
metaphysics  ;  my  only  amusement  being  such  as  I  found  in 
my  companionship  with  the  Delphians.  who  met  every  Satur 
day  evening,  rain,  or  shine,  at  each  other's  chambers,  burrows, 


174  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

offices,  or  houses,  in  rotation;  there  to  eat  bread  and  cheese, 
and  settle  the  affairs  of  the  universe,  in  a  committee  of  the 
whole,  never  consisting  of  more  than  nine:  we  being  the  male 
Muses  of  oui1  day.  and  up  to  all  that  could  reasonably  be 
expected  of  ourselves,  or  our  sisters ;  and  all  being,  at  last, 
authors,  and  each  in  a  way  of  his  own,  before  the  members 
died  off,  and  the  club  slowly  evaporated. 

The  club  originated  with  Dr.  Tobias  Watkins  and  Mr. 
Pierpont,  who  had  somehow  got  acquainted,  through  a  sort 
of  Unitarian  efflorescence,  while  the  latter  was  debating  with 
himself  whether  4i  To  be,  or  not  to  be."  which  soon  after  struck 
in;  and  the  members,  with  their  clubicular  names,  and  titles, 
and  professorships,  were  —  Dr.  Tobias  Watkins,  as  Pertinax 
Particular,  President ;  John  Pierpont,  as  liiero  Heptaglott, 
Vice-President ;  Dr.  Readel,  as  Blearix  von  Crambograph, 
Secretary,  and  professor  of  Crambography  ;  William  Gvvinn, 
as  Odopoeus  Oligosticus,  editor  of  the  "  Gazette,"  and  pro 
fessor  of  Impromptology  ;  Paul  Allen,  editor  of  the  "  Tele 
graph,"  alias  Solomon  Fitzquiz  ;  William  H.  Winder, 
alias  Opechancough  Soulikouqui ;  Breckenridge,  alias  Pere 
grine  Bockinjoculus ;  and  myself,  otherwise  called  Jehu 
O1  Cataract.  For  many  of  these  names,  most  of  which  were 
eminently  characteristic  —  and  one,  especially,  so  laughable  in 
itself,  that  I  was  obliged  to  adopt  it  for  a  title-page  to 
"  Niagara,"  lest  it  should  stick  to  me  through  life  —  we  were 
indebted  to  our  Secretary,  a  fellow  of  "  infinite  jest,"  and  over 
flowing  with  originality  and  whim  ;  though  two  were  chosen 
by  the  parties  themselves,  that  of  General  Winder  in  his 
admiration  for  Opechancanough  the  Great,  only  two  or  three 
years  after  the  Bladensburg-races,  and  that  of  Breckenridge, 
from  a  celebrated  Indian  chief  he  had  somewhere  known, 
while  preparing  his  "  Views  of  Louisiana." 

The  President  was  indeed  remarkable  for  his  pertinacity, 
and,  I  must  add,  for  an  excessive  critical  accuracy  ;  Pierpont 
was  named  Heptaglott,  under  an  idea  —  far  from  being  well 
founded  —  that  he  was  a  great  linguist,  and  well  acquainted 
with  oriental  literature,  of  which,  by  the  way,  he  knew  noth 
ing ;  Readel,  the  Secretary,  was  of  German  parentage,  and 
near-sighted,  and  full  of  quips  and  cranks  ;  hence  he  christ 
ened  himself,  Blearix  von  Crambograph ;  Gwinn  was  wonder- 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  175 

fully  apt  with  epigrams,  and  puzzles,  and  newspaper-squibs, 
and  therefore  it  was.  that  our  Secretary  dubbed  him  Odoporus 
Oligosticus  :  Paul  Allen,  who  had  the  gravest  way  of  saying 
the  silliest  things,  and  was  a  born  poer.  and  a  most  eloquent 
writer,  and  aiwavs  thinking  of  something  else,  and  always  a 
little  too  late,  was  named  Solomon  Fitzquiz,  and  continued  to 
plav  up  to  the  name  —  as  a  sailor  flings  away  his  money,  right 
and  left,  to  show  that  he  isn't  a  land-lubber — long  after  he 
had  come  to  believe  that  we  are  not  sent  here  to  trifle  with 
ourselves,  or  others  —  except  on  special  occasions;  and  1 
was  christened  Jehu  O'Cataraet,  because  of  my  impetuosity, 
and  iiery  temper,  and  Irish  nauic.  At  different  times,  we 
had  two  or  three  other  members,  whose  clubicular  names 
have  escaped  me  :  an  Englishman,  named  Dennison,  a  right 
worthy  gentleman,  and  fine  scholar,  \\ho  wrote  wretched 
doiinerel,  and  published  it  as  a  sort  of  pasquinade,  we 
christened  Precipitate  Pasquin ;  another.  Doctor  Maculloch 
—  I  believe  he  was  a  doctor  —  a  man  of  sober,  unpretending 
talent,  and  excellent  common-sense,  who.  with  little  or  no 
genius  for  whipped  syllabub,  was  guilty  now  and  then  of 
writing  verses  after  the  style  of  Sir  \\  alter  Scott,  which  ap 
peared  in  the  "  Portico."  with  some  of  my  emendations  ;  while 
another  was  Colonel  Joseph  I).  Learned,  (Surrogate  Sacvert), 
with  whom  I  first  entered  as  a  student-at-law  —  an  amiable 
kind-hearted,  shiftless,  clever  man,  who  was  sadly  perplexed 
and  bothered  all  his  life  through,  and  up  to  the  very  last,  for 
"  presuming  to  be  ambitious/'  as  '•  Robert  Walsh.  Jr.,  Esquire," 
the  "American  Gentleman,"  used  to  say  of  Mr.  Madison. 

But  the  Delphians  were  a  great  help  to  one  another;  and 
all  to  me.  in  a  thousand  ways.  I  have  already  given  some 
account  of  them.  a<  debaters  ;  but,  as  writers,  they  were  all 
more  or  less  distinguished,  even  the  nervous  and  excitable 
Winder  having  managed  to  bring  forth,  and  publish,  in  Paul 
Allen's  "Journal  of  the  Times.''  for  which  I  also  wrote  pro 
fusely,  a  capital  outline  '•  Hi-tory  of  Maryland." 

Was  I  overworking  myself?  I  had  no  experience  to 
guide  me.  and  no  admonition  or  warning,  to  put  me  upon  my 
guard,  until  I  pitched  headlong  out  of  my  chair  one  night, 
while  occupied  with  "Seventy-Six"  or  "  Logan,''  and  some 
thing  else,  at  the  same  time.  Having  satisfied  myself,  how- 


176  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ever,  as  I  lay  upon  the  floor,  by  feeling  my  pulse,  the  rhythm 
of  which  —  the  '•  healthful  music"  —  was  undisturbed,  and 
by  touching  my  lips,  upon  which  I  found  no  froth  nor  foam, 
that  I  had  neither  apoplexy  nor  epilepsy  to  fear,  but  syncope, 
I  made  up  my  mind,  then  and  there,  before  I  got  up,  that  I  had 
been  abusing  my  trust,  violating  some  natural  law,  and  pre 
suming  too  much  upon  the  strength  of  my  natural  constitution  ; 
and  that,  after  the  active  life  I  had  always  led,  I  was  under 
taking  too  much;  and,  unless  I  went  more  into  the  open  air, 
and  took  more  bodily  exercise,  I  should  never  be  able  to  reach 
the  point  I  was  looking  up  to.  As  with  me.  it  has  always 
been  but  a  word  and  a  blow — "  decision  following  every 
glance  of  thought,  as  the  thunderbolt  pursues  the  flash  "  —  I 
began  riding,  fencing,  and  sparring  forthwith,  and  entered  upon 
a  course  of  regular  walking  exercise,  which  I  have  continued 
from  that  day  to  this  :  averaging,  I  dare  say,  for  the  last  fifty 
years,  in  one  way  and  another,  full  two  thousand  miles  a 
year,  or  one  hundred  thousand  miles  within  that  period.  Most 
of  the  time,  my  business,  while  building,  or  attending  to  my 
professional  affairs,  obliged  me  to  do  more  than  this ;  for, 
although  I  kept  two  horses  for  many  a  year,  and  sometimes 
three,  I  never  rode,  except  when  I  went  out  of  town  with 
my  family. 

But,  with  all  this.  I  never  slackened  my  studies  nor  labors, 
up  to  the  time  when  I  started  away  from  the  dinner-table  of 
my  excellent  friend,  Henry  Robinson,  after  we  had  been  talk 
ing  about  the  insolent  reviewers  over  sea,  who  had  thought 
proper  to  ask,  "  Who  reads  an  American  book  ?  "  and  to  ad 
vise  that  we  should  "  import  our  literature  in  bales  and  hogs 
heads  ;"  and  hurried  off  to  England  by  the  next  packet,  there 
to  "answer  the  question,  by  "carrying  the  war  into  Africa." 

What  others  had  done,  I  could  do.  And  had  not  Sir  Mat 
thew  Hale  begun  the  study  of  law  even  later  in  life  than 
I  —  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  if  I  do  not  mistake?  And  had 
he  not  studied  sixteen  hours  a  day,  without  breaking  down, 
or  outliving  himself?  Why,  therefore,  should  I  relax  my 
endeavors,  at  least  so  long  as  I  slept  well,  had  always  a 
reasonable  appetite,  and  felt  never  the  worse  for  my  labors? 

But  I  overlooked  the  circumstance,  that  Sir  Matthew  Hale 
had  always  been  a  student,  instead  of  being  an  active  man  of 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  177 

business ;  having  begun  his  career  with  a  clergyman,  and 
then  gone  through  the  whole  course  of  collegiate  honors  at 
Oxford  ;  so  that  when  he  entered  at  Lincoln's  Inn.  which  he 
did  before  he  had  reached  twenty-two,  he  was  prepared  even 
for  the  study  of  law.  as  they  studied  it  then,  without  books 
and  without  lectures  ;  and  having  worn  the  heaviest  armor  in 
his  preliminary  exercises,  he  was  ready  to  throw  it  off.  in  the 
great  battle  of  lift1,  like  the  young  Spartans,  when  they  found 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 

Not  so  with  me.  For  I  had  every  thing  to  learn,  and  al 
most  every  thing  to  unlearn  ;  and  all  at  once.  I  had  no  time 
for  deliberation,  hardlv  for  experiment.  In  addition  to  which, 
what  was  the  course  of  study  for  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  at  the 
time  he  entered  the  field,  or  that  of  any  other  English  lawyer 
from  that  day  to  this,  compared  with  what  I  was  obliged  to 
go  through,  if  I  ever  hoped  to  reach  the  position  I  coveted? 

In  England,  a  man  is  prepared  for  a  department  of  law 
only  ;  and  though  he  may  read  Coke  upon  Littleton,  the  Insti 
tutes,  and  Shepherd's  Touchstone,  and  Eearne's  Contingent 
Remainders,  and  Executory  Devises,  and  such  liu'ht  affairs, 
for  amusement,  he  is  not,  called  upon  to  study  them,  nor  to 
work  out  the  problems  they  contain,  as  we  do  here,  unless 
to  become  a  special-pleader,  a  conveyancer,  or  an  equity- 
draughtsman.  While  there,  one  is  wholly  confined  to  the 
business  of  an  attorney,  or  of  a  proctor  in  the  ecclesiastical 
courts,  or  in  chancery,  another  is  known  only  as  a  barrister, 
and  is  never  to  be  found  intermeddling  with  his  brethren 
below,  or  poaching  upon  their  grounds.  The  criminal-lawyer 
is  a  criminal-lawyer,  and  nothing  more.  And  he  who  goes 
into  the  Admiralty-courts  would  be  all  at  sea  in  the  King's- 
Bench,  or  Common-Pleas,  just  as  Dr.  Lushington  would, 
before  the  Lord  Chancellor,  or  Sir  Samuel  Romilly  at  the 
Quarter-Sessions. 

And  then,  too,  while  the  American  lawyer  is  to  be,  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  a  counsellor  and  attorney,  a  conveyancer 
and  advocate,  with  nobody  to  prepare  his  brief,  or  to  look  up 
authorities,  he  must  be  ready  to  practise  in  all  our  courts, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest;  from  the  Supreme-Court  of 
the.  United  States  at  Washington,  down  to  the  sixpenny  magis 
trates  and  municipal  authorities  of  the  land  ;  in  all  the  com- 

12 


178  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

mon-law  courts  —  in  Chancery,  in  Admiralty,  in  the  Orphans'- 
Court,  or  Probate-Court  —  and,  in  short,  everywhere  and 
anywhere,  at  all  times,  at  the  beck  and  bidding  of  his  client, 
if  that  client  be  worth  having,  or  worth  keeping.  Here, 
it  is  unsafe  for  any  man  to  be  thought  above  his  business; 
and  I  have  seen  William  Pinkney  arguing  a  question  before 
a  justice  of  the  peace  in  Baltimore  —  a  question,  to  be  sure, 
which  involved  the  rights  of  a  wealthy  corporation  —  fora 
whole  day  at  a  time ;  and  the  present  Judge  Clifford,  one  of 
the  associate  justices  of  the  United-States  Supreme  Bench, 
elaborating  a  case  before  the  municipal  judge  of  Portland,  as 
if  it  were  a  question  of  life  or  death,  where  the  fee  was  not 
more  than  five  dollars,  perhaps  not  over  three,  and  the  matter 
in  dispute  hardly  worth  mentioning;  and  this,  after  his  return 
from  Mexico,  where  he  had  been  our  minister,  and  after  he 
had  been  the  United-States  Attorney-General.  It  was,  in 
deed,  not  long  before  his  translation  to  the  bench  of  the 
United-States  Supreme-Court. 

And  then,  too.  just  4ook  at  the  course  of  study  for  an 
American  lawyer.  In  the  first  place,  he  must  begin  by 
making  himself  acquainted  with  the  whole  body  of  English 
law  —  with  the  whole  system  of  procedure,  and  with  all  the 
reports  and  elementary  works.  Not  enough  is  it  for  him  to 
read  Blackstone,  and  all  his  commentators ;  but  he  must  be 
familiar  with  the  Common-law  and  with  the  Statute-law  of 
our  mother  country,  they  being  the  foundations  of  our  whole 
system  of  jurisprudence,  however  modified.  And  so  with 
Criminal-law,  Chancery-la\v,  Ecclesiastical-law,  Mercantile- 
law,  Maritime-law  —  the  -  American  lawyer,  practise  where 
he  may  out  of  a  country  village,  needs  to  be  familiar  with  all 
these ;  in  other  words,  he  must  begin  where  the  English  law 
yer  leaves  off.  And,  then,  what  next  ? 

He  must  be  well  acquainted  with  the  laws  and  decisions  of 
his  own  State,  and  of  all  the  neighboring  States,  and  suffi 
ciently  so,  to  find  what  may  be  inquired  for,  in  all  the  reports 
of  all  the  different  States  of  our  confederacy. 

Nor  is  this  all.  He  must  have  the  statute  laws  of  the 
United-States,  and  all  the  reported  decisions  of  the  Supreme- 
Court,  the  Circuit-Courts,  and  the  District- Courts,  always 
within  reach,  if  not  at  his  finger-ends.  And  then,  having  a 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  179 

French  and  Spanish  population  along-  our  frontiers,  and  a  peo 
ple  at  New-Orleans  and  Florida  and  Texas,  where  the  Code 
Napoleon  is  always  of  paramount  authority,  and  Spani>h  law  is 
continually  coming  up.  he  must  be  well  acquainted  with  the 
French  and  Spaui.-h  languages,  and  with  the  Institutes  of 
Justinian,  and  the  Pandects  —  if  not  with  the  great  body  of 
Roman  or  Civil-law,  that  being  the  foundation  of  Spanish 
and  French  law  —  as  with  Pothier  and  Grotius.  and  Yattel  and 
Montesquieu,  and  Burlamaqui  and  Ueecaria.  Or,  if  he  ven 
tures  into  one  of  our  large  cities,  and  flings  down  his  glove 
there,  with  a  irenerous  and  lofty  purpose,  he  may  lind  himself 
at  the  mercy  of  accident  ;  and.  instead  of  being  prepared  for 
evervbodv  and  every  tiling,  as  every  assailant  or  interloper 
must,  he  may  be  driven  to  the  wall  by  the  lirst  whipper- 
snapper  he  ventures  to  cross  rapiers  with.  It  was  so  with 
William  AVirt,  as  he  himself  acknowledges.  For  want  of 
knowing  what  everybody  else  knew  —  the  merest  pettifoggers 
of  the  day  —  he  found  himself,  like  the  Santissima  Trinidad, 
besieged  by  cockboats  ;  or.  like  poor  Gulliver,  when  the  Lilli 
putians  beset  him  in  swarms,  and  fastened  him  to  the  ground, 
with  pins  and  horse-hair. 

But  I  need  not  dwell  upon  these  considerations  :  for.  not 
withstanding  my  discouragements.  I  went  through  my  course 
of  study,  as  no  other  student  ever  did,  so  far  as  1  know  or 
believe  :  reading,  within  the  four  years  of  probation,  more  law 
than  all  the  students  about  me  ;  and  enough,  1  am  satisfied,  to 
make  it  appear  wonderful,  even  to  such  hard  workers  as 
David  Hoffman  himself,  that  I  could  have  done  what  1  did  in 
less  than  twelve  or  fifteen  years,  even  if  I  did  nothing  else 
during  that  time,  and  studied  nothing  else,  instead  of  being 
obliged  to  earn  a  livelihood  with  my  pen,  while  living  from 
hand  to  mouth,  to  go  through  a  course  of  general  reading,  in 
history  and  science,  and  to  study  languages  by  the  half  dozen. 

Being  admitted.  I  went  into  a  very  respectable  practice, 
wilhiu  the  next  following  twelvemonth  ;  and  in  time,  if  1  had 
not  gone  abroad,  might  have  secured  a  position  well  worth 
having.  But,  as  it  was.  I  never  made  much  of  a  figure  at  the 
bar,  and  have  not.  since  my  return  to  this  country,  owing  to 
reasons  which  I  hope  to  set  forth  hereafter.  But  1  stood  well 
as  a  lawyer,  with  the  best  lawyers  I  knew  :  and  the  papers  I 


180  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

wrote,  while  studying  with  General  Winder,  on  Capital  Pun 
ishment,  on  Lotteries,  on  Imprisonment  for  Debt  (growing 
out  of  the  persecution  of  my  dear  old  friend,  Pierpont,  by  the 
unrelenting  Grundys),  on  Mr.  Taylor's  "Junius  Identified," 
on  the  Bankrupt-Laws,  and  on  the  great  case  of  Stijrgis  v. 
Crowninshield,  which  overthrew,  at  one  fell  swoop  our  whole 
system  of  State  insolvent-law  —  all  of  which  appeared  in  the 
Baltimore  papers,  and  most  of  them  in  the  "Telegraph"  —  not 
only  attracted  the  attention  of  leading  minds  throughout  the 
country,  but  led  to  my  editorial  engagements,  and  to  com 
parative  independence,  long  before  I  had  been  admitted. 

One  of  these  papers  —  on  Bills  of  Credit,  wherein  I  under 
took  to  show,  and  did  show  most  conclusively,  in  the  judgment 
of  William  Pinkney  himself,  that  all  our  banks  were  uncon 
stitutional —  brought  me  a  proposition  from  a  Mr.  Harris, 
President  of  the  United-States  Branch-Bank  of  Baltimore,  to 
bring  the  question  at  issue  before  the  Supreme-Court  of  the 
United-States,  for  which  I  might  depend  on  being  hand 
somely  compensated,  for  Mr.  Pinkney  had  been  consulted, 
and  had  declared  that  the  argument  was  unanswerable ;  but 
that  he  who  should  undertake  to  carry  the  question  before 
the  Supreme-Court  "would  bring  an  old  house  about  his 
ears." 

Unluckily  for  me,  I  was  only  a  student-at-law ;  and  yet 
more  unluckily,  the  letter  was  left  on  General  Winder's  table 
when  I  was  away,  and  I  never  saw  it,  nor  heard  of  it,  until 
many  months  had  gone  by,  and  I  found  it  one  day  all  covered 
with  dust,  and  when  I  was  but  just  entering  upon  the  great 
field  of  controversy,  which-  I  have  continued  to  occupy  from 
that  day  to  this. 

And  here  I  may  be  permitted  to  add,  perhaps,  that  the 
positions  I  took  against  Chief-Justice  Marshall,  in  the  case 
of  Crowninshield,  were  fully  justified  by  subsequent  decisions 
of  the  Supreme-Court ;  although,  at  the  time,  1  stood  alone,  I 
believe,  in  maintaining,  as  I  did,  that  it  mattered  not  whether 
the  insolvent  laws  of  the  several  States  were  constitutional  or 
unconstitutional ;  they  constituted  a  part  of  every  contract  made 
while  they  were  in  existence,  and  were  operative,  as  much 
as  if  they  had  been  expressly  incorporated  therein  ;  and  all 
discharges,  therefore,  by  State  authority  were  conclusive,  and 


LAW    AND    LITERATURE.  181 

could  not  be  questioned.  And  so.  too,  with  my  views  of  capital- 
puui.-hrnent,  and  especially  of  public  executions  :  of  imprison 
ment  for  debt,  of  lotteries,  and  of  our  militia-system  —  ^reat 
changes  soon  followed,  and  most  of  them,  in  such  a  shape,  and 
under  such  circumstances,  as  to  prove,  beyond  all  question, 
that  the  papers  I  published  in  the  Baltimore  "  Telegraph  " 
had  fruited  abundantly,  but  slowly,  and  sometimes  after  a 
long  interval  :  my  first  case.  Heirs  of  Chirac  r.  Reinicker, 
reported  by  Wheaton,  for  which  I  received  a  retainer  of  ten 
dollars,  having  yielded  five  hundred  dollars,  after  my  return 
from  abroad. 

But  I  must  bring  this  chapter  to  an  end.  On  goinir  away 
from  Baltimore.  I  had  no  idea  of  abandoning  the  law.  nor  of 
beiiiir  away  more  than  a  twelvemonth  or  so.  I  loft  mv  library, 
somewhat  lar^e  for  a  beginner,  and  well  chosen,  and  in  the 
best  possible  condition,  with  a  young  man  who  had  studied 
with  me.  and  of  whom  I  had  the  highest  hopes.  But  he  died 
suddenly,  and  my  books  and  furniture  went  up  into  a  neigh 
boring  loft;  and  when  I  returned  to  this  country,  instead  of 
goini:  back  to  Baltimore,  as  1  intended,  my  friends  there  hav 
ing  advised  me  to  go  to  New-Orleans,  or  Philadelphia,  or 
even  to  New-York,  the  business  of  Baltimore  having  fallen 
off  so  much,  and  every  thing,  as  they  thought,  then  being 
dependent  upon  the  result  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Rail 
road.  I  ordered  my  furniture  and  library  to  New-York;  and 
there  should  have  settled  for  life,  perhaps,  had  not  my  other 
friends  at  Portland  undertaken  to  say.  while  I  was  there  on  a 
visit — and  a  visit  only,  to  my  poor  mother  and  sister  —  that 
I  should  not  be  allowed  to  remain  there  ;  and  that,  if  I  did,  I 
should  never  be  admitted  to  the  bar. 

This  determined  me  ;  and  though,  at  the  time,  I  had  no 
idea  of  settling  for  life  in  Portland.  I  lost  no  time  in  securing 
an  office;  two.  I  might  say,  —  though  I  began  with  taking 
one.  and  had  no  idea  of  trying  two,  until  my  late  uncle,  .lames 
Neal.  who  happened  to  be  passing  by.  while  I  was  negotiating 
with  the  proprietor,  Mr.  James  Deering,  on  beinir  appealed  to 
by  that  gentleman,  assured  him  that  I  wouldn't  have  business 
enough  to  pay  for  my  fire-wood  ;  when  I  settled  the  question 
by  saying  at  once,  "Mr.  Deering,  I'll  take  both  rooms;"  and 
lost  no  time  in  getting  established. 


182  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

In  the  business  of  my  profession,  I  continued,  without  de 
voting  myself  wholly  to  it  —  for  want  of  clients  mainly  — 
until  about  the  year  1840,  when  I  withdrew  altogether,  and 
have  been  my  own  man  ever  since.  Hereafter,  I  may  recur 
to  this  portion  of  my  life,  and  give  satisfactory  reasons  for 
not  having  been  more  distinguished  —  I  might  say,  for 
being  so  little  distinguished,  that  my  friend,  the  Hon.  William 
Willis,  who  published,  not  many  years  ago,  a  history  of  the 
Cumberland  Bar,  absolutely  forgot  to  mention  my  name,  as  he 
did  that  of  somebody  else,  I  forget  whom,  just  now  ;  though  I 
believe  it  was  Mr.  Justice  Ware,  of  the  United-States  Dis 
trict  Court,  who  really  deserved  to  be  counted  in  among  the 
foremost  lawyers  of  Cumberland  —  I  might  say  of  New- 
England.  Randolph  A.  L.  Codman  was  another  of  these 
omissions,  I  am  told. 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  183 


CHAPTER    XII. 

LITERARY   GROWTH:    SPROUTING,   FLOWER  AND 
FRUITAGE. 

BUDDING  EFFLORESCENCE:  MI;.  PIERFONT'S  NOTIONS:  ''NIAGARA"  AND 
"GOLDAU:"  REVIEW  OF  KYKON'S  WORKS;  MOKE  AIJOUT  MY  FIRST 
NOVEL:  now  IT  WAS  RECEIVED. 

AUGUST  17,  18G7.  —  "Once  more  into  the  breach,  dear 
friends  —  once  more  !  " 

Although  addicted  to  pretty  tough  story-telling,  from  my 
earliest  recollection,  and  quite  in  the  way  of  inventing  and 
combining,  for  the  amusement  of  my  school-fellows,  at  the  age 
of  eight  or  ten,  I  never  undertook  to  tell  a  story,  on  paper, 
till  I  had  come  to  years  of  discretion. 

]\Iy  first  efforts  in  the  way  of  authorship,  as  with  most  of 
our  ambitious  youngsters.  I  dare  say,  were  downright  imita 
tions —  and  imitations,  too,  not  of  prose,  but  of  poetry;  and 
the  very  first  was  an  acrostic,  which,  somehow  or  other, 
never  got  beyond  the  first  line,  and  which,  to  my  unspeakable 
regret,  I  have  wholly  forgotten,  I  was  wretchedly  in  love 
with  a  girl  somewhat  older  than  myself,  who  went  to  the 
same  school,  and  sat  opposite  me,  when  I  was  between  ten 
and  eleven,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection  and  belief.  Her 
name  was  Lucy  ;  and.  having  achieved  the  first  line,  I  was  in 
labor  with  the  second  for  I  know  not  how  long  a  time,  nor 
whether  it  kept  me  awake  or  not.  I  only  know  that  I  could 
remember  but  one  word  in  the  English  language  that  began 
with  u  ;  and  that  was  Uncle.  I  never  thought  of  looking  into 
the  dictionary  ;  and  there  I  stuck  —  and  there  I  have  contin 
ued  to  stick,  to  this  day  ;  never  having  finished  that  acrostic, 
nor  attempted  another.  In  fact,  I  am  rather  inclined  to 
believe  that  my  horror  of  acrostics,  and  my  hatred  of  sonnets, 
for  their-family  likeness  to  acrostics,  may  be  owing  to  my 
pitiable  failure  in  this  my  first  attempt  upon  poor  Lucy. 


184:  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Some  years  after  this,  being  at  home,  on  a  visit  from  Ports 
mouth,  where  I  was  then  living.  I  tried  my  hand,  in  a  small 
way,  upon  something  funny,  which,  I  am  happy  to  say,  has 
utterly  faded  from  my  recollection.  It  was  original,  that  I 
am  sure  of;  and  the  versification  was  good  :  but  the  drollery 
was  what  I  think  I  should  now  be  inclined  to  cry  over,  if  it 
were  to  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me. 

My  next  effort  was  in  the  epitaph  line  ;  and  as  it  seemed 
quite  successful,  though  not  very  ambitious,  being  a  combina 
tion  of  the  grotesque  and  the  pathetic,  and  meant  to  be  funny, 
or  only  half-serious  at  best,  I  think  it  worth  remembering. 
A  pet  robin  had  been  throttled  by  a  tom-cat  in  our  boarding- 
house,  at  Portsmouth,  N.H. ;  and  to  assuage  the  sorrow  of  a 
fine,  free-spirited  girl  the  boarders  were  all  in  love  with,  two 
of  us  were  chosen  to  write  an  epitaph,  or  what  was  then 
called  "a  pair  of  varses."  And  a  "pair  of  varses"  we  did 
make  of  ourselves,  that's  a  fact.  My  associate  was  named 
Langdon.  We  separated  for  the  day ;  and  when  we  met 
again,  to  compare  notes,  Langdon  insisted  on  hearing  mine, 
first.  I  consented  ;  and  he  was  so  delighted,  poor  fellow,  that 
he  hadn't  the  courage  to  read  his  own  aloud ;  and  to  this  hour 
I  have  no  idea  how  much  better  it  was  than  mine ;  though, 
between  ourselves,  it  could  not  well  have  been  worse.  There 
were,  I  believe,  a  dozen  lines  to  answer  for;  but  of  these  I 
remember  only  the  following  :  — 

"  On  angel-finger,  taper,  small,  and  neat, 

Roost  pretty  robin,  and  forget  thy  pain, 
Thy  little  cage,  grimalkin's  velvet  feet, 
And  sweetly- slumbering,  visit  us  again  !  " 

Of  course,  I  said  feet,  he-cause  I  couldn't  find  a  rhyme  for 
claws ;  though  now  it  comes  to  me  of  itself,  as  you  see. 

After  this,  I  hung  up  my  fiddle :  enough  had  I  accom 
plished  to  satisfy  others,  though  not  myself,  that  I  only  wanted 
opportunity  and  encouragement,  to  become  reasonably  famous 
in  the  epitaph-line.  And  who  knows  but  I  might,  long  before 
this,  if  pussy-cats  and  robin  red-breasts  had  continued  to  solicit 
my  attention  ?  But  I  never  tried  my  hand  at  another,  until 
about  the  year  1850,  when  I  wrote  some  lines  for  the  memo 
rial  of  Mrs.  Osgood,  which  I  have  an  idea  are  to  be  found 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  185 

on  her  monument  in  Greenwood  cemetery.  That  they  are  a 
considerable  improvement  upon  my  first  essay.  I  think  will 
be  acknowledged,  when  it  is  remembered  that  only  about  half 
a  century  had  intervened ;  the  first  lines  being1  written  in 
1812.  when  I  was  in  my  nineteenth  year,  and  the  last  in  1850, 
when  I  was  in  my  lit'ty-seventh.  Let  no  man  be  discouraged, 
therefore,  though  he  may  have  begun  with  acrostics,  and 
failed,  or  finished  with  an  epitaph,  when  it  would  have  been 
better  if  he  had  failed  :  for.  at  the  end  of  half  a  hundred,  or  a 
hundred  years,  who  knows  what  he  may  be  capable  of?  The 
lines  for  Mrs.  Osgood's  monument  were  — 

"  Sister,  we  brine:  to  thee 
Fruitage  and  bloom, 
While  the  birds  sing  to  thee, 
Over  thy  tomb. 

Emblems  arc  these  of  thy 

Kipeness  and  sweetness, 
Born  of  the  upper  sky, 

Glory  and  rleetness. 

In  the  still  waters  here, 

Imaged  \ve  see, 
Where  they  are  bright  and  clear, 

Pictures  of  thee." 

In  the  fall  and  winter  of  1814-15, 1  had  another  paroxysm. 
I  was  at  Ilallowell,  teaching  penmanship  and  drawing;  and 
happened  to  board  with  a  Mr.  Palmer,  whose  wife  had  a 
pretty  niece  named  Olivia  T.,  whom  I  had  met  with  at  Exe 
ter,  N.H.,  about  a  twelvemonth  before,  and  fallen  head-over- 
heels  in  love  with.  It  seemed  to  me  in  all  seriousness,  when 
I  found  myself  in  her  company  away  Down-East,  after  I  had 
given  her  up,  and  had  not  the  least  idea  of  ever  seeing  her 
again,  that  Providence  must  have  something  in  view,  by  bring 
ing  us  together  again  ;  she  as  trig,  and  sprightly,  and  as  full 
of,  mischief  as  ever,  and  I  altogether  more  of  a  man,  and  not 
afraid  of  saying,  if  I  should  be  driven  to  such  necessity,  that 
my  soul  was  mv  own,  without  gasping  for  breath,  however  it 
might  be  with  my  heart.  I  had  met  her  in  mid- winter  at 
AVaterville.  and  did  not  then  know  that  she  had  relations  in 
Ilallowell,  or  that  Mrs.  Palmer  was  her  aunt.  When  that 


186  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

dear  good  woman  told  me  —  after  hearing  of  our  acquaintance 
at  P^xeter  and  Waterville —  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  put 
me  into  Olivia's  bed,  or  bed-chamber,  I  forget  which,  I  was 
half  beside  myself  with  a  sort  of  reverent  joy,  a  solemn  sense 
of  I  knew  not  what,  but  something  as  if  she  had  been  com 
mitted  to  my  charge,  in  her  untroubled  innocence,  and  that, 
happen  what  might,  I  should  be  answerable  for  her  safe-keep 
ing.  Not  that  she  was  expected  home,  not  that  I  was  likely 
to  see  her  at  Hallowell  —  for  I  was  only  a  bird  of  passage 
myself — a  buzzard,  if  you  will,  at  the  time  —  but,  then, 
wasn't  I  in  her  sleeping-chamber,  in  her  very  bed,  and 
wouldn't  something  naturally  be  expected  of  me,  and  some 
thing  out  of  the  common  way?  How  could  I  reconcile  it  to 
my  conscience,  to  forego  such  an  opportunity  ? 

And  so  I  went  to  work,  and  dreamed  a  dream.  "  I  saw  a 
hand  you  cannot  see ;  I  heard  a  voice  you  cannot  hear ; " 
and  the  next  morning,  by  peep  of  day,  I  had  written,  I  know 
not  how  many  verses  about  Olivia,  containing  an  account  of 
my  dream.  The  two  last  lines  were  sufficiently  lugubrious 
and  emphatic  for  one  who  had  been  murdering  in  his  sleep,  to 
say  nothing  of  what  he  did  after  he  was  awake. 

"Methought  by  me  Olivia  bled; 
Methought  by  me  she  died!  " 

Not  long  after  this,  I  made  my  first  experiment  in  prose.  I 
had  been  writing  letters  all  my  life  long,  and,  I  have  no  doubt, 
owe  much  of  the  astonishing  facility  that  others  wonder  at,  to 
this  habit  of  talking  on  paper  ;  but,  then,  I  had  never  written 
a  piece,  never  what  is  called  a  composition.  But  one  sabbath- 
morning,  in  the  midst  of  an  excited  political  canvass,  when 
everybody  seemed  rushing  into  print,  a  fellow-boarder,  named 
Aldrich,  came  into  my  room,  and  proposed  to  unite  with  me 
in  preparing  an  article  for  the  "  Hallowell  Gazette."  I  said 
yes,  with  the  single  qualification,  that  he  should  furnish  one 
article,  and  I  another,  and  each  for  himself,  without  suggestion, 
or  help  from  the  other. 

Both  were  written  and  sent ;  and  mine  appeared  in  the 
next  paper,  though  his,  I  believe,  did  not.  Mine  was  suffi 
ciently  absurd,  I  must  acknowledge,  for  I  did  not  understand 
my  subject,  nor  what  was  wanted ;  but  his,  if  the  truth  must 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  187 

be  told,  was  yet  worse.  I  remember  something  I  said  about 
a  candidate,  and  his  bolting  from  the  course;  but  nothing 
more.  But  it  was  my  first  essay,  and  it  satisfied  me.  that 
anybody  who  wrote  English  —  as  well  as  many  who  did  not, 
and  do  not,  even  to  this  day  —  might  find  his  way  into  the 
newspapers. 

From  this  time  forward,  I  wrote  nothing  —  not  a  word,  not 
a  syllable  —  for  the  printers.  —  until  after  we  were  established 
in  Baltimore,  when,  having  become  acquainted  with  a  set  of 
handsome,  clever,  and  very  pleasant  young  women,  with  some 
thing  of  a  literary  taste,  it  was  proposed  by  one  of  their  num 
ber,  a  Miss  Maria  C..  to  form  a  club,  and  furnish  weekly,  each 
in  turn,  a  paper  upon  any  subject  we  chose,  to  be  read  at  our 
meetings. 

Out  of  these  grew  some  prose  sketches,  and  half  a  dozen 
poems,  which  appeared  in  the  "  Wanderer,"  a  very  weakly 
periodical,  then  just  emerging  from  the  chrysalis ;  and  the 
u  Portico,''  which  I  have  already  had  occasion  to  speak  of. 

The  ice  was  now  broken.  I  had  appeared  in  print,  and  the 
people  about  me  knew  it.  Of  course,  much  was  expected  of 
me  —  too  much,  indeed,  by  my  friends  and  associates.  And 
one  dav,  beinii  at  my  desk  in  the  retail-establishment  I  have 
mentioned,  my  friend  Pierpont,  who  had  begun  to  have 
strange  notions  of  my  poetical  power,  owing  to  a  revelation  I 
had  most  unexpectedly  made,  brought  me  a  new-paper,  con 
taining  an  account  of  the  destruction  of  Shane  Castle,  in  Ire 
land,  the  seat  of  the  O'Neals,  by  fire,  and  bagged  me  to  try 
mv  hand  on  that  catastrophe,  for  the  kk  Portico."  "  With  all 
mv  heart."  said  I  ;  and,  before  he  left  me.  I  wrote  a  poem  of 
thirtv-two  lines,  which  appeared  in  the  next  number  of  the 
*•  Portico,"  together  with  another  '•  to  Genius  ;"  both  over  the 
signature  A.  (one  of  a  score  that  I  used  in  the  "Portico"), 
which  led  some  capital  judges  (of  signatures)  to  assign  all 
these  papers  to  Paid  Allen,  just  then  at  the  zenith  of  his 
meridian  glory. 

This  was  in  1810,  when  I  was  in  my  twenty-third  year; 
and  a  brief  passage  or  two  will  show  something  of  what 
passed  then,  and  very  justly  I  think,  for  the  true  ore  of 
poetry,  though  it  needed  smelting  and  purifying,  and  not  a 
little  hammering. 


188  •WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Farewell,  silent  Erin  !  —  farewell  to  thy  glory ! 

It  has  leaped,  from  thine  altar,  the  watch-towers  of  Shane, 
While  the  Spirit  of  song,  and  the  Genius  of  story, 

Stood  watching  thee,  star  of  their  hearts!  in  thy  wane. 
The  pride  and  the  strength  of  whole  ages  shall  weep  thee, 

For  the  suns  of  whole  ages  have  hallowed  thy  pile, 
Farewell,  lonely  sentry  of  Freedom!  g»  sleep  the?, 

With  the  bones  of  our  monarchs,  the  lights  of  our  isle,"  &c.,  &c. 

"  Go  sleep  thee  ! "  indeed.  How  strange  that  neither  my 
friend  Pierpont,  nor  my  friend  Watkins,  the  editor,  should 
have  made  no  complaint,  suggested  no  change,  in  that  vile, 
ungrammatical  phrase.  But  both  were  blinded  in  their  ad 
miration  of  what  they  called  my  genius. 

And  here  I  may  as  well  introduce  what  I  have  already 
alluded  to  in  a  late  paragraph,  that  my  friend  Pierpont  may 
not  be  wholly  without  excuse,  for  entertaining  such  extrava 
gant  notions  of  his  junior-partner. 

One  day,  while  he  was  in  travail  with  the  "  Airs  of  Pales 
tine,"  I  dropped  in  to  see  him,  in  the  midst  of  his  throes, 
and  found  him  reading  a  new  poem  which  had  just  appeared, 
Shelley's  ''Revolt  of  Islam."  "There,"  said  he,  "just  read 
that,  and  tell  "me  what  you  think  of  it."  I  ran  my  eye  over 
the  passage,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  said,  "Read  it 
aloud,  John."  I  had  never  done  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  I 
had  certainly  never  read  a  page  of  any  thing  that  resembled 
poetry  to  another  person  ;  but  I  was  in  no  humor  for  ac 
knowledging  the  truth,  and  so  I  went  at  it,  and  after  reading 
awhile,  stopped.  "  Go  on,"  said  he,  "  go  on  ; "  and  I  did  go 
on,  till  I  had  finished  the  whole  poem.  When  I  had  finished, 
he  drew  a  long  breath,  and,  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm,  said, 
"  John,  you  are  a  poet !  "  I  said  nothing  ;  for  what  could  I 
say  ?  I  knew  that  I  read  as  I  felt,  and  therefore,  I  suppose, 
naturally  ;  but  that  I  was  a  poet,  or  that  my  reading  another's 
poetry,  under  any  circumstances,  would  show  the  fact,  any 
more  than  reading  a  song  would  show  that  I  was  a  musician, 
had  never  entered  my  head.  Nevertheless,  my  dear  friend 
was" right;  and  I  say  now,  that  although  most  poets  play  the 
mischief  with  poetry,  even  their  own  —  where  the  poetry 
does  not  play  the  mischief  with  them  —  whenever  they 
undertake  to  read  it  aloud,  either  by  chanting,  after  the 
manner  of  Coleridge,  or  by  sacrificing  the  rhjme,  and  making 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  189 

prose  of  the  finest  passages,  or  with  sing-song,  "two  up  and  two 
down,"  like  Latinists  in  scanning,  yet.  after  all,  none  but  a. true 
poet  can  ever  read  true  poetry.  All  others  are  as  much  out 
of  their  proper  sphere,  as  a  man  would  be,  who  should  under 
take  to  play  the  great  Haarlem  organ,  as  1  landel  did.  with  legs 
and  arms  all  abroad,  though  wholly  unacquainted  with  music. 
"Can't  yon  play?"  said  a  fiddler  to  a  fellow  who  had  been 
watching  him  for  a  long  while  from  the  corner.  "  Don't 
know."  said  the  other:  "never  tried;  but  jess  give  us  hold, 
and  we'll  see."  And  just  so  is  it  with  most  readers  of 
poetry  ;  beinu  themselves  prosaic,  they  have  no  idea  that  a 
poem  is  a  musical  instrument,  on  which  no  man  ever  played, 
without  help,  until  he  had  learned  the  fingering. 

Not  long  after  this,  being  about  to  visit  Philadelphia,  he 
said  to  me.  "John,  you  write  poetrv  :  I  know  you  do."  At 
this  time  he  had  never  seen  a  syllable  of  mine,  to  justify  the 
charge;  nor  had  any  one  else,  out  of  the  circle  I  have  men 
tioned,  where  we  used  to  read  our  communications.  I  could 
not  "deny  the  soft  impeachment;"  and,  after  blushing  and 
stammering —  I  mean  just  what  I  say  —  I  owned  up  to  a  sort 
of  common-place-book,  which  I  put  into  his  hands  on  board 
the  boat,  just  as  we  parted  ;  and  which  he  handed  back  to 
me  on  his  return,  literally  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  saying, 
''Well,  John,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  And  then  he  said,  sub- 
stantiallv.  something  like  this  —  for  the  fragments  he  had 
been  overhauling,  were  fragments  only,  and  never  intended 
for  another's  eve  — "  Notwithstanding  your  extravagance, 
that  little  memorandum-book  is  full  of  strange  and  beautiful 
thought,  and  full  of  originality  ;  in  a  word,  of  poetry" 

And  this  opinion  he  confirmed  long  afterward,  when  the 
evidence  he  gave  that  he  meant  all  he  said,  was  of  a  nature 
so  unquestionable,  that  no  human  being  would  ever  think  of 
doubting  his  honesty,  any  more  than  I  did  his  judgment  and 
taste  ;  and  I  may  as  well  introduce  it  here. 

The  "  Battle  of  Niagara"  and  "  Goldau  "  were  both  writ 
ten  at  his  suggestion  ;  and  both  were  published  without  his 
knowledge,  while  he  was  at  Harvard,  preparing  for  the  minis 
try.  "Niagara"  he  never  saw,  until  I  sent  him  the  book; 
and  ;*  Goldau  "  he  had  only  seen,  after  I  had  written  the  first 
two  or  three  hundred  lines,  which  I  threw  off  in  less  thaii 
forty-eiffht  hours,  according  to  my  present  recollection. 


190  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Of  course,  when  it  appeared,  without  a  hint  or  intimation, 
either  from  me,  or  from  anybody  el-e  —  for  it  was  printed  in 
the  "Portico"  oHice,  while  the  proprietor,  Dr.  Watkins.  was 
away  on  a  tour  of  inspection  —  it  took  him  altogether  by 
surprise. 

After  reading  it,  he  sat  do\yn,  it  seems,  and  wrote  a  letter 
to  his  wife  ;  and  then,  all  at  once,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  copy  what  he  had  written  to  her  about  "  Niagara,"  and 
send  it  to  me.  This,  he  lost  no  time  in  doing.  I  have  his 
letter  now  before  me.  It  runs  thus,  and  is  postmarked 
Sept.  9,  1818:  — 

"  Oh  !  I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  Neal  has 
published  a  volume  of  poetry.  It  contains  two  poems  of  con 
siderable  length:  one  entitled  "  Battle  of  Niagara,"  founded 
upon  the  battle  that  was  fought  during  the  late  war,  just  by 
the  Falls  of  Niagara,  called  the  battle  of  Lundy's  Lane  ;  the 
other  named  "  Goldau,"  founded  on  a  scene  that  took  place 
among  the  mountains  of  Switzerland,  which  is  more  particu 
larly  stated  in  the  little  biographical  sketch  prefixed  to  Mr. 
Buckmi nster's  sermons.  The  poems  are  both  very  great, 
admirable,  astonishing,  indeed.  He  has  thrown  his  whole 
character  into  them ;  and  either  of  them  contains  more  of 
the  greatness  and  madness  of  poetry  than  any  other  poem 
that  was  ever  written  in  America.  True,  they  have  great 
defects,  of  which  I  think  their  not  unfrequent  obscurities  are 
the  most  conspicuous.  But  all  the  defects  are  more  than  a 
thousand  times  counterbalanced  by  the  beauties.  There  are 
some  inaccuracies,  but  they  are  nothing  to  the  splendor, 
beauty,  and  grandeur  of-  the  great  body  of  the  poems.  They 
will  do  him  immortal  honor,  in  my  humble  opinion.  He  does 
not  publish  in  his  real  name,  but  under  his  club  name  of 
"Jehu  O' Cataract,"  which,  for  his  "Battle  of  Niagara,"  is 
peculiarly  appropriate.  I  have  many  apprehensions  that  the 
book  will  suffer  in  the  opinion  of  the  public,  merely  from 
the  circumstance  of  having  that  name,  which  has  so  much 
the  air  of  burlesque  attached  to  it.  For  there  are,  as  may  be 
found  in  all  his  poetry,  many  passages,  in  which  it  might 
be  difficult  to  tell,  except  from  the  context,  whether  it  were 
burlesque  or  sublimity;  and  should  the  reader,  after  having 
read  the  name  on  the  title-page,  happen  to  open  upon  one  of 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  191 

his  extravagances,  lie  would  take  it  all  for  the  labor  of  a 
lunatic,  and  throw  it  by.  But  the  man  uho  has  a  soul  for 
poetrv.  and  will  take  it  and  treat  it  as  it  deserves,  will  be 
treated  in  his  turn  with  such  poetry  as  has  not  heretofore 
been  written  in  this  countrv ;  bv  snch  poetry,  I  mean  dis 
tinctly,  that  the  poetry  is  better,  more  grand,  sublime,  and 
original,  than  any  other  American  poetry.  The  'Airs  of 
Palestine.'  as  a  whole  poem,  is  more  correct,  and  more 
harmonious  :  more  polished  in  the  structure  of  the  verse,  but 
immeasurably  more  tdtne"  — 

And  then  he  adds,  ''My  dear  John,  —  I  had  proceeded 
thus  faif  on  the  last  pa<ie  or'  a  letter  to  my  wife  of  this  date, 
when,  stopping  at  tame,  to  take  a  new  penful  of  ink,  the  idea 
popped  into  my  head  that  I  should  like  to  have  Marv  show 
Iseal  that  part  of  the  letter,  should  he  happen  at  Litchfield; 
because,  hein<T  written  without  anv  idea  of  his  ever  seein^  it, 

*  & 

there  could  be  no  doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  the  honesty  of  the 
criticism.  The  next  idea  was,  that,  although  I  had  not  got  to 
a  real  stop.  1  would  nevertheless  stop  just  there,  and  copy 
it  into  the  next  letter  1  wrote  to  yon.  So,  that  1  mirrht  send 
the  letter  to  my  wife  by  next  mail,  I  took  the  sheet  and 
copied  it  immediately,  word  for  word,  and  letter  for  letter, 
and  comma  for  comma,  and  score  for  score.  I  had  even  writ 
ten  'their"1  for  'the,'  as  you  see  above  in  her  letter,  and  made 
unintentionally  the  same  mistake  in  copying,"  &c..  &c. 

At  the  same  time,  he  sent  me  a  most  enthusiastic  and 
gratifying  critique  on  the  volume,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gilman, 
afterwards  settled  in  Charleston,  S.C.,  which  appeared  in 
Major  Russell's  paper,  the  "  Centinel."  "  But,  in  my  opinion," 
he  adds,  after  praising  the  criticism  heartily  enough  to  show 
a  just  appreciation  of  the  author,  "  he  ought  to  have  given 
you  as  decided  a  preference  to  Gray,  as  he  has  to  Thomson 
and  Scott.  J/y  opinion  of  the  book  is  briefly  this  :  that  no 
English  poet  has.  within  the  same  compass,  so  much  poetry; 
nav.  that  no  man  now  alive  has  written  so  much  good  poetry 
as  that  book  contains.  Now  you  know  what  1  think  of  you. 
Pitv  me,  if  you  please,  and  petition  the  legislature  for  a 
guardian,  or  the  managers  of  the  Pennsylvania-Hospital  for 
lodgings  ;  but  that  is  my  opinion  of  Jehu  0' Cataract's 
poems." 


192  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

About  this  time,  while  the  newspapers  were  ringing  the 
changes  upon  "  Goldau  "  and  "  Niagara,"  Paul  Allen  came 
out  in  all  seriousness,  and  yet  more  extravagantly,  by  far,  than 
Mr.  Pierpont ;  and  though  he  called  it  "  a  swash  of  magnifi 
cence"  in  the  "Journal  of  the  Times,"  and  said  it  was  not 
always  easy  to  determine  whether  I  was  laughing  at  the 
reader,  or  only  letting  off  the  fireworks  of  a  new  empyrean, 
or  something  of  the  sort,  still  it  was  what  wre  had  long  been 
waiting  for,  a  poem  full  of  originality,  and  strength  and  beauty. 
I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  language,  but  the  substance  of 
his  testimony,  abundantly  confirming  that  of  Mr.  Pierpont. 
And  it  should  be  remembered,  that  both  of  these  men  had  some 
thing  at  stake  in  the  way  of  reputation  ;  for  Pierpont  was  then 
acknowledged,  by  common  consent,  for  the  leading  poet  of 
America;  and  Allen  had  been  declared  by  Mr.  Jefferson  him 
self,  after  the  publication  of  '•  Lewis  and  Clark's  Tour," 
which  he  prepared  for  the  press,  to  be  the  very  best  of  our 
American  writers.  His  "  Noah "  had  not  then  been  pub 
lished. 

One  more  incident,  and  I  have  done  with  this  part  of  my 
story.  Not  long  after  the  appearance  of  my  poems,  I  wrote 
something  —  I  forget  what,  "  Ambition  "  perhaps  —  which  led 
Mr.  Pierpont  to  say,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  should  give  up 
the  writing  of  poetry,  and  never  write  any  more ;  since  what 
with  him  was  labor,  to  me  was  mere  play.  And  he  kept  his 
promise,  notwithstanding  all  my  remonstrances  and  expostu 
lations,  for,  I  should  think,  twenty-five  or  thirty  years.  If 
that  simple  fact  does  not  go  far  to  prove  his  sincerity  —  to 
say  nothing  of  his  infatuation,  or  hallucination  —  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  what  would.  At  this  time,  however,  he  could 
not  have  written  his  "  E  pluribus  Unum  ; "  nor  the  lines 
about  Garrison,  where  he  talks  about  "  the  torch,  the  torrent 
of  the  mob." 

Meanwhile  —  to  return  —  meanwhile,  I  had  betaken  my 
self  to  prose,  after  a  similar  fashion  ;  and  was  beginning  to 
write  for  the  papers.  But  stay :  it  can  do  no  harm,  I  think, 
and  it  may  do  some  good,  for  me  to  be  more  particular  just 
here  in  the  details  of  my  progress  in  authorship,  from  the 
earliest  sprouting  to  the  ultimate  fruiting,  such  as  it  was, 
and  is. 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  193 

One  evening,  while  we  were  all  together  at  the  club,  talk 
ing  about  the  business  and  the  news  of  the  day.  the  President, 
Dr.  AVatkins.  turned  toward  Mr.  Pierpont,  and  begged  him 
to  write  a  review  of  Byron,  whose  '•  Chihle  Harold  "  had  just 
appeared,  and  who  was  then  at  the  very  zenith  of  his  glory. 
Mr.  Pierpont  laughed,  and  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  posi 
tively  refuse  :  for  the  "  Portico  "  needed  help,  and  any  thing, 
in  his  way.  he  would  have  been  glad  to  contribute.  AVatkins, 
however,  did  not  so  understand  him.  I  knew  that,  and,  fore 
seeing  what  was  likelv  to  happen,  pitied  both.  At  our  next 
meeting.  Watkius  renewed  the  subject,  and  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  Pierpont  had  promised  —  or,  at  any  rate,  that  he  had 
so  understood  him  :  and  that  he  had  depended  upon  the 
article,  and  was  greatly  disappointed.  To  prevent  all  farther 
misconception,  Mr.  Pierpont  said  positively  that  a  review  was 
not  in  his  line  :  he  had  never  written  one,  in  all  his  life,  and 
probably  never  should;  and  therefore  the  proposition,  though 
sufficiently  flattering,  was  respectfully  declined.  Seeing  that 
both  were  a  little  embarrassed,  or  flurried,  and  very  unwilling 
that  such  men  should  so  misunderstand  each  other,  as  I  knew 
they  would,  if  left  to  themselves.  I  offered  to  write  the  review 
myself.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  expression  of  poor  TVatkins's 
countenance.  Pierpont  said  nothing:  and  the  other  members 
of  the  club  seemed  to  take  it  for  a  capital  joke.  This  made 
me  quite  serious  ;  and  I  renewed  the  proposition,  which,  of 
course,  under  the  circumstances,  could  not  well  be  refused  ; 
for,  after  all,  what  risk  was  there  on  the  part  of  the  editor? 
If  the  review  didn't  suit  him.  couldn't  he  throw  it  into  the  fire, 
or  mislay  it,  or  crowd  it  out.  or  postpone  it  indefinitely  ;  or 
overlay  it.  as  other  editors  often  do,  with  his  own  every-day 
notions  ?  I  saw  by  his  look,  that,  although  he  thought  me 
capable  of  almost  any  thing  in  the  way  of  presumption,  if  not 
of  achievement,  he  was  not  prepared  for  any  thing  quite  so 
preposterous,  as  for  a  young  man,  of  twenty-three  —  for  I  was 
really  very  young  of  my  age,  or  I  should  not,  have  dared  to 
attempt  such  a  thing  —  without  a  name,  and  without  educa 
tion,  to  review  the  works  of  Lord  Byron,  just  when  the 
whole  country  was  in  a  blaze  with  them  ;  and  to  do  this  in 
such  a  publication  as  the  '*  Portico,"  a  monthly  journal,  then 
just  beginning  to  make  a  noise  in  the  world.  Aiid  this  I 

13 


194  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

told  him,  not  long  after  the  review  appeared  ;  but  he  always 
maintained  that  I  had  misunderstood  the  expression  of  his 
handsome  countenance,  for  he  had  never  entertained  a  doubt 
of  my  being  able  to  do  whatever  I  undertook.  But  I  knew 
better:  he  may  have  deceived  himself;  but  he  did  not  deceive 
me  ;  for  there  was  no  mistaking  the  signs  of  astonishment 
I  saw,  when  I  succeeded  in  making  him  understand  that  I 
was  in  downright  earnest,  and  not  to  be  trifled  with. 

Having  taken  up  the  glove,  I  lost  no  time  in  getting  to 
work.  Within  the  next  following  four  days,  I  had  gone 
through  with  the  whole  body  of  Byron's  works,  and  written 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pages  of  manuscript,  which  I 
handed  to  Mr.  Pierpont,  on  his  calling  to  ask  me  when  I 
proposed  to  begin  the  review.  After  glancing  over  a  few 
pages,  he  insisted  on  my  reading  it  to  him  :  I  consented  ;  but, 
.lonjr  before  I  had  finished,  he  seemed  to  have  an  idea  that 
there  was  some  kind  of  a  hoax  at  the  bottom  ;  but  when  I 
had  got  through,  and  assured  him  in  all  seriousness,  that 
I  had  never  written  a  line,  till  I  had  finished  reading  all  the 
poems  he  had  lent  me,  including  the  third  canto  of  "  Childe 
Harold,"  he  urged  me  to  publish  what  I  had  written,  just  as 
it  stood.  This  I  would  not  consent  to  do  ;  the  manuscript 
being,  in  my  own  judgment,  atrocious,  and  much  of  it  having 
been  scribbled  with  one  hand,  while  I  was  holding  the  book 
with  the  other,  and  copying  at  arm's  length.  And  then,  too, 
though  I  had  never  rewritten  any  thing  but  my  verses,  I  felt 
assured,  that,  in  going  over  what  I  had  occasion  to  say,  I 
should  be  able  to  improve  it.  He  shook  his  head,  I  remem 
ber,  and  seemed  rather  unwilling  to  trust  me.  But  I  perse 
vered  ;  and  within  twenty-four  hours;  according  to  my  present 
recollection,  I  had  completed  what  I  meant  for  one  article, 
having  no  idea  how  much  manuscript  went  to  an  octavo  page 
of  the  "  Portico,"  arid  supposing  it  would  all  appear  in  one 
number.  Instead  of  this,  it  made  fifty-five  printed  pages, 
and  was  continued  through  five  or  six  numbers.  I  have  not 
re.-ul  a  line  of  it.  from  that  day  to  this  —  more  than  fifty 
years ;  but,  on  looking  over  it  just  now,  I  must  acknowledge 
that  I  do  not  feel  ashamed  of  my  work.  On  the  contrary,  I 
am  rather  astonished  at  myself;  the  opinions  I  expressed 
being  such  as  I  entertain  at  this  moment,  and  the  language 


LITERARY    GROTVTH.  195 

about  as  well  fitted  to  the  subject,  as  any  thing  I  have  written 
since.  The  selections,  too.  were  pre-eminently  characteristic 
of  Byron,  and.  I  might  say,  of  myself,  and  such  as  I  am 
willing  to  abide  by.  for  the  justification  of  all  I  said  of  that 
wilful,  wayward  man.  who  persisted  in  sacrificing  himself,  or 
rather  in  throwing  himself  away,  lest  he  might  be  overlooked, 
or  forgotten,  if  he  did  not  keep  the  whole  reading-world  in  a 
perpetual  fecse.  and  fidget,  and  flutter. 

J  was  now  fairlv  launched  :  and  continued  writing  for  the 
"Portico."  without  pav.  from  .June.  ISKJ,  to  .Juno.  1«S1<S, 
when,  having  overloaded  it  witli  a  ponderous  essav  on  ••  Free 
Auenev  "  —  t<>  sav  nothing  of  other  articles,  amounting  to 
one-third  of  the  whole,  when  it  had  been  dimmed  to  a  quar 
ter!  v.  or  three-decker  —  it  went  to  the  bottom,  where  it  has 
been  lying  ever  since,  like  the  British  frigate1  and  her  golden 
trea>ure.  at  Ilell^ate.  or  the  Narrows,  wailing  fora  new  appli 
cation  of  the  diving-bell. 

Jt  was  a  melancholy  affair,  though,  that  foundering  of  the 
''Portico:"  but.  after  all.  it  was  no  fault  of  mine.  The  doc 
tor  had  gone  the  whole  length  of  his  tether,  without  counting 
the  cost.  He  had  collected  his  subscriptions  in  advance,  and 
was  over  head-and-ears  in  debt  :  and.  having  applied  for  the 
benefit  of  the  insolvent  laws  of  Maryland,  was  in  no  condition 
for  a  further  outlay.  lie  had  been  ordered  oil'  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  alon<:  the  frontiers,  and  called  on  me,  just  he  fore  he 
left  us.  to  sav  that  he  must  rely  on  me  to  carry  this  quarterly 
number  through  the  press  ;  the  last,  perhaps,  that  would  ever 
appear,  unless  the  masonic  fraternity  —  of  which  he  was  the 
head  and  front,  and  with  whom  he  was  so  pre-eminently 
popular  that  nothing  he  could  say  or  do,  was  ever  able  to 
shake  their  faith  in  him.  or  their  love  —  should  bestir  them 
selves  for  his  relief.  ''All  the  copy  was  <nven  out.  and  in  the 
hands  of  the  printer  ;  and  all  I  should  have  to  do,"  he  said, 
with  a  seriousness  not  to  be  questioned,  "  woidd  be:  to  correct 
the  press,  and, perhaps,  write  a  few  paragraphs  to  fill  up  with." 
And  here  we  separated  :  —  he  giving  himself  no  further  trouble 
about  the  business  ;  and  I  going  to  work,  under  a  belief  that 
I  had  little  or  nothing  to  do.  out  of  the  routine  I  had  estab 
lished  for  myself.  But,  alas  1  I  soon  found,  on  looking  over 
the  copy,  that  J  should  have  to  write  perhaps  one-half  of  the 


196  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

\vhole  number  ;  and  this,  too,  when  I  was  getting  up  "  Niagara," 
a  novel  or  two,  and  occasional  newspaper-articles,  to  say 
nothing  of  law,  languages,  and  metaphysics.  But  having 
undertaken  the  job,  and  the  reputation  of  the  editor  bekig 
dependent  upon  the  issue,  I  persevered  ;  and  accomplished 
my  purpose,  to  the  unspeakable  relief  of  that  amiable  and 
excellent  man,  who  soon  after  returned,  to  give  the  Delphians 
a  magnificent  supper,  the  wines  and  venison  for  which,  and 
the  canvass-backs,  were  furnished  by  a  brother-mason,  who 
had  been  his  largest  creditor,  when  he  was  set  free  by  the 
insolvent-law,  about  a  month  before.  But  I  am  running 
ahead  of  my  story. 

Having  been  well  received  in  the  "  Portico "  —  so  well, 
indeed,  that  the  editor  showed  me  two  or  three  letters  upon 
the  subject  of  my  papers,  declaring,  as  he  did  so,  that  all 
the  best  articles  were  attributed  to  me.  and,  among  them,  one 
from  his  brother-in-law,  Simpson,  of  Philadelphia,  the  editor 
of  a  paper  there,  and  a  famous  critic,  who  wrote  to  say  that 
he  had  just  been  satisfying  some  of  the  learned  Thebans,  or 
Athenians  rather,  of  that  glorious  region  —  that  the  papers 
on  Byron,  which  were  signed  A.,  had  been  written  by  Dr. 
Watkins  himself,  as  anybody  might  know,  from  the  internal  evi 
dence  ;  though  the  Philadelphians,  who  were  very  proud  of 
Paul  Allen  as  an  early  editor  of  "  Bronson's  United-States 
Gazette,"  and  the  compiler  of  "  Lewis  and  Clark's  Tour,"  were 
maintaining,  tooth  and  nail,  that  nobody  living  could  write 
such  wonderful  criticisms,  but  Paul  Allen  (perhaps  these 
gentlemen  found  the  ''  internal  evidence  "  in  the  signature  I 
adopted  for  that  particular  series  —  a  capital  A.,  and  nothing 
more)  :  Having  been  well  received  in  the  *•  Portico  "  —  what 
a  period  !  —  I  now  began  to  cast  about  for  something  better  to 
do  —  something,  at  least,  which  would  pay  better  ;  and,  after 
considering  the  matter  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  determined  to 
try  my  hand  at  a  novel. 

And  forthwith  to  work  I  went,  and  soon  produced  a  story 
in  two  volumes,  with  a  preposterous  title,  *•  Judge  not  from 
First  Appearances."  Oddly  enough,  somebody,  a  woman, 
has  just  taken  the  same  title,  "  Judge  Not,"  which,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  is  a  far  better  title  than  mine.  I  committed 
it  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Pierpont,  who  was  then  hard  at  work 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  197 

for  the  ministry,  in  Cambridge.  lie  tried  two  or  three 
of  th'?  leading  Boston  publishers,  who  fought  shy,  so  that  we 
didn't  even  get  a  "glorious  nibble"  —  much  less  a  bite; 
although  "our  hooks  were  baited  with  a  dragon's  tail."  like 
tho>c  that  were  nscd  by  the  giant,  who  ••  sat  on  a  rock  and 
bobbed  for  whale."  And  the  re>ult  was.  that  1  took  home  the 
manuscript,  and  re-wrote  the  whole  :  changing  the  title  to 
'•  Keen  Cool."  and  tryijig  to  he  funny —  very  1'unnv.  A  pur- 
chaser  wa<  entrapped —  Mr.  dishing,  oi'  Baltimore — who, 
on  having  it  read  to  him  bv  inv  i'riend  Watkius,  ollcred  me 
two  hundred  dollars  for  the  copyright,  which,  of  course.  I 
jumped  at.  like  a  cock  at  a  gooseberry.  It  seems  a  pitiful 
sum  now  for  an  American  novel  :  but  then,  it  was  something 
handsome,  since  he  could  have  the  best  English  novels,  in 
print,  for  nothing;  and  Charles  Brockden  Brown,  whose  mar 
vellous  parodies  of  Godwin  were  exceedingly  popular,  got 
even  less  for  u  Ormond,"  "  Wieland."  and  ••  Edgar  Iluntley," 
though  portions  of  them  were  not  only  astonishing  for  their 
strength  and  beauty,  and  dramatic  power,  but  for  their  origi 
nality  :  and.  in  my  judgment,  were  superior  to  Godwin  him 
self,  and  even  to  ••  Caleb  Williams." 

In  writing  this  story.  I  had  two  objects  in  view:  one  was 
J-o  diM-oura-je  duelling:  and  another  wa<  —  I  forget  what.  I 
onlv  know  that,  inasmuch  as  it  had  become  a  settled  fashion 
to  head  the  chapters  of  a  storv  with  quotations,  like  those  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  had  seldom  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
subject,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  several  pages  of  dislocated  and 
fantastic  verses,  which  I  handed  to  the  printer,  with  general 
directions  to  divide  the  chapters,  according  to  his  o\\n  ^ood 
pleasure,  and  to  prefix  the  mottoes,  without  any  regard  to 
their  applicability,  hit  or  miss  :  all  which  he  did  ;  so  that  no 
wonder  people  could  never  quite  sati-iy  themselves  that  I  was 
not  making  fun  of  the  reader. 

One  thing  more  I  did.  which  I  have  just  happened  to  re 
member.  1  was  tired  to  death  of  titles,  and  especially  of 
Esquires  and  Honorables,  and  had  quite  made  up  mv  mind 
never  to  give  any  countryman  of  mine  a  title  of  honor  ;  nor 
ever  to  say  the  Honorable  Court,  or  your  Honors,  even  to  the 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme-Court  of  the  United  States, 
though  willing  enough  to  give  titles  of  office  to  anybody  and 


198  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

everybody  —  a  course  I  have  persisted  in  for  half  a  century ; 
though,  of  late.  I  must  acknowlege,  that  I  have  begun  to  relax, 
and  relent,  and,  within  the  last  .-ix  months,  to  say  Esquire, 
and  Honorable  in  my  letters.  Occ..  as,  on  the  whole,  somewhat 
easier  than  to  give  my  reasons  for  not  doing  so. 

At  this  time,  too,  my  friend  Pierpont  had  just  issued  his 
'•Airs'  of  Palestine."  with  a  handsomely  engraved  title-page, 
whereon  he  appeared  a^  "John  Pierpont.  Esquire"  This  I 
could  not  stomach,  and  so  "Keep  Cool"  appeared,  as  if  writ 
ten  by  "  Himself.  Esquire." 

Yet  more-.  The  reviewers  were  having  the  field  all  to 
themselves  about  this  time.  Authors  were  nowhere.  And  so 
I  prefaced  my  book  with  a  review,  somewhat  after  the  fashion 
of  the  day.  beginning  with  "America  was  discovered  in  1492, 
by  Christopher  Columbus,"  &c.,  &c.,  which,  on  the  whole, 
was,  I  think,  a  very  fair  hit. 

As  for  the  characters,  the  situations,  and  the  incidents  gen 
erally  of  this,  my  first  novel,  I  have  to  say  that  I  think 
them  worthy  of  great  praise ;  the  story  itself  dramatic,  and 
earnest  and  plausible,  and  the  language  far  beyond  I  he  trash 
of  the  hour  :  but,  then,  the  jokes,  the  pleasantries  —  they  are, 
according  to  my  present  recollection,  and  I  must  confess  that 
I  have  not  courage  enough  to  look  at  them  again,  both  tire 
some  and  silly.  The  hero  is  driven  to  the  field,  as  he  thinks, 
and  as  others  in  the  fiery  atmosphere  of  Baltimore  then 
thought,  by  sheer  necessity.  He  was  obliged  to  fight,  or  be 
disgraced  for  ever.  And  having  fought,  and  having  vindicated 
his  manhood,  under  the  greatest  provocations,  by  leaving  his 
adversary  on  the  field,  from  which  he  never  rose  again,  he 
goes  forth  a  broken-hearted  man,  to  sorrow  and  lament,  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  that  he 
yielded  so  much  to  the  evil  customs  of  society,  instead  of  out 
braving  the  worst,  and  bearing,  as  a  Christian  gentleman,  what 
only  Christian  gentlemen  can  ever  be  expected  to  bear.  Stay  : 
I  have  just  opened  the  book  to  verity  a  date,  June  27,  1817, 
when  it  was  published,  and  I  find  that  "•  Percy  "  did  not  die  on 
the  field,  but  after  there  had  been  a  reconciliation  with  '•  Sid 
ney." 

And  here  I  am  reminded  of  an  amusing  incident  or  two 
which  occurred  at  the  time  of  publication.  Our  friend 


LITERARY    GROWTH.  199 

"Watkins,  whom  we  had  nicknamed  Pertinax  Particular,  was 
a  man  so  fond  of  paradox  and  contradiction,  that,  sooner  than 
auree  with  anvbody.  he  would  sav  anv  thinir.  and  so  earnestly 
and  vehemently,  as  ro  satisfy  most  people  that  he  meant  what 
he  said:  and  if.  in  the  progress  of  inquiry,  his  antagonist 
showed  any  sinn  of  yielding,  he  would  slip  over  to  the  other 
side1,  as  it'  to  show  him  how  good  a  cast-  ini^ht  he1  made  for 
him.  with  a  little  patience  and  ingenuity.  In  sketching  the 
character  of  "  Kcho."  if  I  must  acknowledge  the  truth,  and  own 
up.  I  had  one  of  my  own  leading  characteristics  in  vie\v,  as 
I  thought.  Nevertheless,  our  friend  Watkins  went  so  far  as 
to  adopt  the  whole  character,  saying  it  was  intended  for  him  ; 
and.  on  the  whole,  was  good  enough  to  he  handsomely  acknowl 
edged.  And  yet.  a>  I  live.  I  had  never  thought  of  the  man, 
while  portraying  the  individual  he  referred  to. 

Another  incident,  worth  mentioning,  perhaps,  just  here, 
was  this.  I  had  been  to  visit  my  mother;  and  after  passing 
through  Litchh'eld.  where  I  managed  to  i'all  desperately  in 
love  with  a  Miss  L..  had  reached  New  Haven,  on  my  way  to 
Baltimore,  and  had  turned  in  at  a  very  early  hour,  that  my 
meditations  upon  the  delightful  young  woman  I  have  men 
tioned  might  be  undisturbed — a  mere  scjiool-girl.  at  the  time, 
who  boarded  at  Mrs.  Lord's,  the  mother  uf  Mrs.  Pierpont  — 
under  an  agreement  I  had  made  long  before,  that  if  ever  I 
went  to  Litchtield.  and  they  would  put  up  with  me,  L  would 
put  up  with  them. 

After  being  in  bed  an  hour  or  two.  I  was  waked  by  a  seri 
ous  altercation  going  on  in  a  further  corner  of  the  large  hall 
we  occupied,  between  two  young  men,  collegians  perhaps, 
who  were  criticising  a  new  book,  just  out,  they  said.  Occa 
sionally,  they  would  rip  out  an  oath  ;  and  then  there  would  be 
a  hearty  laugh,  and  then  a  growl.  I  began  to  have  my  mis 
givings —  to  understand  what  a  poor  fellow  says  in  the  play, 
'•  I  knew  they  were  talking  about  me,  for  they  laughed  con- 
sumedlv."  At  last  the  question  was  settled.  u  What  the 
plague;  does  he  mean  by  this,  hey?"  said  the  man  who 
held  the  book,  and  was  reading  it  by  a  vile  smoky  lamp,  with 
his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  and  one  leg  in  the  air.  "  Aug nil- 
hnn  c<tud<i  tenes  —  You  hold  a  snake  by  the  tail.  Pshaw!  — 
dare  sav  he  thinks  that  verv  tine,  or  he  wouldn't  have 


200  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

crowded  it  into  the  title-page;  but  what  does  it  signify?" 
"Very  true/'  said  I  to  myself:  "and  if  you  had  the  least  idea 
of  what  a  joke  was  there  hidden,  you  wouldn't  wonder. 
Suppose  you  translate  it,  '  You  hold  an  eel  by  the  tail : ' 
don't  you  catch  the  idea?"  But  how  could  I  explain  it, 
without  betraying  the  author  ?  I  could  not ;  and  so  1  turned 
over,  and  went  to  sleep. 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  201 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

LITERARY   GROWTH   CONTINUED 

"JUNIUS  NOT  IDKVTIFIKD:"  ••  ALLKN'S  DEVOLUTION  ;  "  PAUL  ALLKN  AND 

DK.    WATKIN.x;     HK/.I.KIAH    NILKS     AND    THK    INDEX    TO     HIS     llhlGISTKK; 
CKITlCIJS.Ms.    OF    Till:    DAY. 

SEPT.  2.  18G".  —  I  find,  on  referring  to  letters,  incidents,  and 
memoranda  widely  scattered,  that  I  wrote,  for  Paul  Allen's 
k- Journal  of  the  Times"  —also  without  pay — from  its  com 
mencement,  in  September,  1818.  until  it  died  of  sheer  inani 
tion.  Among  the  papers  I  contributed  was  a  review  of 
"Junius  Identified,"  in  which  I  undertook  to  show  that  Mr. 
Taylor  had  not  succeeded  in  establishing  the  identity  of  Sir 
Philip  Francis  with  Junius:  and  that,  bv  his  own  showing, 
if  the  facts  and  circumstances  were  all  as  lie  had  stated,  they 
were  capable  of  another  explanation.  Tlu.-  paper  was  written 
for  the  club,  and  being  well  received,  just  when  Mr.  Taylor's 
book  was  convincing  everybody,  Allen  claimed  it  for  the 
"Journal."  where  it  appeared,  week  after  week,  overloaded 
with  the  most  extraordinary  typographical  blunders  ;  for,  as 
usual.  I  never  saw  the  proofs.  It  was  almost  a  book  of  itself; 
and.  though  it  was  entitled  "Junius  not  Identified/'  I  relied 
wholly  upon  Mr.  Taylor  for  my  facts.  Nor  did  I  undertake 
to  show  that  Sir  Philip  Francis  was  not  Junius,  only  that 
Mr.  Taylor  had  failed  to  show  that  he  was  Junius. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  been  betrayed  into  writing  a  part  of 
"Allen's  History  of  the  American  Revolution"  —  two  vol 
umes  octavo  —  under  the  following  strange  circumstances. 
Allen,  though  decidedly  a  man  of  genius,  and  a  charming, 
though  exuberant  writer,  full  of  warmth  and  earnestness,  and 
at  times  exceedingly  eloquent,  had  a  miserable  habit  of  procras 
tination,  which  kept  him  always  under  whip  and  spur.  Ten 
or  fifteen  years  before  I  knew  him.  he  had  acquired  such  a 
glorious  reputation,  as  the  very  best  of  our  writers,  that  a  man 


202  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

by  the  name  of  Hopkins,  who  went  about  the  country,  year 
after  year,  selling  razor-strops  of  his  own  contrivance  (the 
very  man  referred  to  in  Chapter  VII.),  until  he  was  thought  to 
have  made  a  fortune,  took  it  into  his  head  to  obtain  subscrip 
tions  for  a  "History  of  the  American  Revolution,  in  two  vol 
umes  octavo,  by  Paul  Allen,  Esq. ;  "  having  secured  Allen,  as 
he  believed,  by  a  conditional  promise,  dependent  upon  the 
subscriptions,  at  five  dollars  each,  and  having  furnished  him, 
year  after  year,  with  revolutionary  documents,  orderly  books, 
and  letters  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  East,  West,  North, 
and  South.  At  last,  in  the  spring  of  1818,  he  had  obtained 
over  fifteen  thousand  of  the  best  names  in  the  country ;  and 
as  they  were  beginning  to  die  off,  or  to  vanish  from  the  places 
that  had  once  known  them,  he  concluded  it  was  time  to  have 
the  manuscript,  upon  which  Allen  had  been  laboring  for  so 
many  years,  as  he  believed,  put  into  the  hands  of  a  printer. 
But  Allen,  when  applied  to,  kept  putting  him  off — now,  with 
assurances  that  it  would  soon  be  ready  ;  and  now,  that  he  was 
going  all  over  it  again,  supplying  omissions,  correcting  the 
errors  and  oversights,  and  verifying  certain  disputed  occur 
rences.  Hopkins  began  to  be  troubled  at  last,  and  finally,  in 
a  fit  of  desperation,  called  on  our  friend  Watkins,  and  asked 
his  advice.  Watkins,  being  himself  a  terrible  procrastinator, 
wherever  it  wras  possible  to  procrastinate,  seemed  to  have  a 
suspicion  of  the  truth,  and  suggested  to  Hopkins,  that  per 
haps  friend  Allen  had  not  got  so  far  along  as  he  wished,  and 
was  for  that  reason  afraid  to  show  his  hand.  But  what  was 
to  be  done  ?  The  subscription  was  dying  out ;  and  the  razor- 
strop  man  was  almost  afraid  to  show  his  face,  in  large  por 
tions  of  the  country,  where  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
assuring  the  statesmen,  lawgivers,  and  politicians  of  the  land, 
year  after  year,  that  the  book  was  almost  ready  for  the  press, 
and  then,  that  it  was  going  through  the  press  at  a  hand- 
gallop. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  he  determined  to  have  another 
interview  with  Allen,  arid  insist  on  seeing,  with  his  own  eyes, 
just  how  much  had  been  accomplished.  But  Allen  was  not 
to  be  headed  off  in  this  way :  he  fired  up,  arid  threatened  to 
destroy  all  he  had  written,  and  return  all  the  boxes  of  revo 
lutionary-papers  to  the  owners,  if  he  was  to  be  baited  and 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  203 

badgered  after  this  fashion.  What  did  they  take  him  for  ? 
Did  they  suppose  a  History  of  the  American  Revolution 
could  be  thrown  off.  like  a  daily  newspaper?  Hopkins  apolo 
gized,  and  explained,  and  h'nally  succeeded  in  pacifying  the 
strange  man.  who,  in  the  course  of  their  conversation,  had 
suu;uvsted  —  as  the}'  were  in  so  great  a  hurry  to  secure  the  old 
subscriptions  —  that  Hopkins  had  better  engage  somebody  else 
—  Dr.  Watkins.  or  Mr.  Pierpont  —  to  lend  a  hand  in  the 
work,  and  help  finish  it  off.  Hopkins  snapped  at  the  idea,  and 
reported  the  whole  conversation  to  the  doctor,  saying  that, 
upon  his  soul,  he  did  not  believe  Allen  had  written  more  than 
half  the  work;  and  that,  of  course,  if  it  were  so,  years  miijht 
go  by.  before  it  would  be  ready  for  the  printer.  Watkins 
thought  he  must  be  mistaken  ;  that  Allen  could  never  be  so 
greatly  self-deceived  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  had  no  doubt  that 
full  three-quarters,  or  at  least  two-thirds,  must  be  done. 

After  this,  they  had  a  consultation  with  Mr.  Pierpont,  who 
would  not  listen  to  a  proposition.  History  was  altogether  out 
of  his  line;  as  much  so,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  as  reviewing; 
but  he  suggested  his  friend  Neal,  saying  that,  if  1  could  be 
persuaded  to  undertake  it,  he  would  answer  for  me.  Per 
suaded  !  —  persuade  a  drowning  man  to  snatch  at  a  straw,  or 
a  hungry  man  to  open  his  mouth  widely  !  I  wanted  precious 
little  persuasion,  you  may  be  sure  ;  and  Watkins  having  cor 
roborated  all  that  Pierpont  said  of  me,  and  Allen  having 
assented  with  his  whole  heart.  I  agreed  to  write  whatever 
might  be  required,  in  copartnership  with  Watkins,  at  one 
dollar  the  printed  page.  But  how  much  was  there  to  be 
done  ?  That  was  the  h'rst  question  to  be  settled  ;  and  I  ven 
tured  to  suggest  —  knowing  Allen  as  I  did  —  that  if  a  quarter 
part  were  written,  and  ready  for  the  press,  I  should  be  aston 
ished.  They  desired  me  to  see  for  myself,  and  ascertain  how 
the  land  lay.  It  was  rather  a  delicate  affair  to  manage  ;  but 
I  lost  no  time — for  I  had  none  to  lose  —  in  bringing  our 
friend  Paul  to  close-quarters.  After  a  long  and  very  pleas 
ant  conversation,  in  which  he  professed  himself  delighted  and 
unspeakably  relieved  by  the  arrangement,  he  owned  up.  So 
far  from  having  written  three-quarters,  or  one-half,  or  eveii 
one-quarter,  he  had  not  written  a  single  page  —  not  even  a 
line ! 


204  WAXDERIXG  RECOLLECTIONS. 

When  I  reported  the  result,  the  parties  looked  at  each 
other,  as  if  they  durst  not  believe  their  own  ears.  What 
was  to  be  done?  Should  they  throw  the  subscription-books 
into  the  fire,  and  leave  Paul  Allen  to  his  fate  ;  or  get  up  'the 
two  volumes  without  his  help?  In  the  midst  of  their  trouble 
and  embarrassment.  I  proposed  to  go  to  Cambridge,  to  read 
every  thing  that  had  been  written  about  the  Revolution  — 
together  with  Professor  Ebeling's  library,  then  just  received 
at  Harvard  —  and  complete  the  two  volumes  in  twelve  months 
at  furthest,  and  perhaps  in  six.  This  proposition  staggered 
them  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  was  finally  arranged  that  Wat- 
kins  and  I  should  go  to  work  in  partnership,  at  once,  and 
bring  forth  the  work,  with  Allen's  adoption,  as  fast  as  we 
could  drive  it  through  the  press.  At  the  desire  of  my  asso 
ciate,  I  began  with  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ;  and 
wrote  in  the  course  of  two  months,  or  less,  enough  to  make 
about  one  volume,  reading  the  while  whatever  I  had  not  read 
before,  including  Marshal,  Ramsay,  Gordon,  and  others  ;  and. 
having  deposited  the  manuscript  with  my  coadjutor,  started 
off  on  a  trip  to  Portland,  leaving  him  to  correct  the  proofs. 
But,  alas  !  they  were  so  shamefully  misprinted,  and  so 
crowded  with  blunders,  often  making  nonsense  of  the  finest 
passages,  that,  although  at  first,  I  was  indignant  at  his  having 
suppressed  so  large  a  portion  of  what  I  had  written,  I  soon 
became  reconciled  to  the  disappointment,  much  as  I  wanted 
the  money,  when  I  considered  how  much  more  I  might  have 
had  to  answer  for.  I  had  furnished  what  would  have  made 
about  six  hundred  pages;  but  my  friend,  the  doctor,  only 
published  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  ;  that  is,  from  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  to  the  end  of  the  first  volume, 
having  himself  written  all  that  could  be  got  into  the  book 
about  the  same  transactions.  He  professed  to  be  delighted 
with  what  I  had  done,  and  particularly  with  the  opening,  which, 
sooth  to  say,  was  rather  above  the  dead  level  of  historical 
composition  ;  but,  being  paid  by  the  page,  of  course  it  would 
be  pleasanter  for  him  to  have  his  own  manuscript  used.  And, 
of  course,  I  had  nothing  to  say.  The  work  appeared  within 
the  time  agreed  upon,  having  a  few  lines  from  Allen  by  way 
of  introduction  ;  all  that  he  ever  wrote  of  "  Allen's  famous 
American  Revolution." 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  205 

And  here  an  amusing  incident  comes  up  in  this  connection, 
which  will  bear  narrating.  One  day,  about  the  year  1823, 
while  I  was  living  in  London,  "  I  happened  in."  as  we  Yankees 
would  say.  at  Mr.  Miller's  bookstore,  where  the  American 
papers  were  always  lying  on  a  table  for  the  entertainment 
of  his  friends.  lie  was  the  first  publisher  of  Washington 
Irving's  ''Sketch-Book,"  and  of  Cooper's  novels;  and  was 
called  the  American-bookseller,  though  an  Englishman,  be 
cause  he  had  republished  these  American  books. 

While  running  mv  eye  over  the  columns  of  a  Boston 
paper,  it  lighted  on  a'long  article,  headed  "Battle  of  the 
Brandywine,"  an  American  story.  I  began  reading  some  of 
the  extracts  ;  and.  after  a  few  moments.  I  said  to  myself, 
'•Hang  the  fellow!  he  is  a  plagiarist;  he  is  imitating  me." 
And  then  I  read  on,  for  two  or  three  paragraphs,  without  a 
suspicion  of  the  truth,  and  must  acknowledge  that  I  felt 
inclined  to  compliment  the  author  for  his  warmth  and  earnest 
ness,  and  almost  for  his  originality,  until  I  came  upon  the 
names  of  Archibald  Oadley  and  somebody  else,  when  I  found 
that  the  extracts  were  all  from  my  story  of  ••  Seventy-Six." 
But  why  not  say  so?  why  call  it  the  "Battle  of  Brandy- 
wine  "  ? 

Years  after  this.  I  met  with  another  long  extract  from  that 
part  of  Allen's  Ilistorv  which  had  been  written  bv  me,  accom 
panied  by  remarks  which  went  to  show  that  the  writer  had 
some  object  in  view  which  I  did  not  understand. 

At  last,  after  another  year  or  two,  the  mystery  was  ex 
plained.  Not  long  after  my  return  to  my  native  towu,  I 
received  a  letter  from  a  Mr.  Hill  —  Frederick  Hill,  if  I  may 
trust  my  memory  —  saying  that  he  was  on  the  stage,  and 
wanted  to  appear  in  Portland.  That  I  might  know  whom 
I  had  to  deal  with,  he  said  that  he  had  formerly  been  the 
editor  of  a  Boston  paper  —  I  forget  which  —  and  that  seeing 
mo  and  my  books  abused  in  about  all  the  newspapers  of  the 
country,  and  often  by  those  who  did  not  appear  to  be 
acquainted  with  my  writings,  or  myself,  he  determined  to 
test  the  question.  And.  with  that  view,  he  gave  a  series  of 
extracts,  oftentimes  of  two  or  three  columns,  from  different 
books  of  mine,  to  which  he  gave  new  titles.  And  these 
extracts,  he  told  me.  went  through  the  whole  country,  like  a 


20C  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

prairie  fire,  and  were  copied  and  praised,  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba.  Of  the  whole,  however,  being  abroad  at  the  time,  I 
had  onlv  seen  the  two  I  have  mentioned.  Wasn't,  it  a  neat 
trick,  and  somewhat  conclusive  upon  my  critics  ? 

And  here  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  for  me  to  give  a  slight 
off-hand  sketch  of  these  two  individuals — Allen  and  Wat- 
kins —  each  remarkable  in  his  way,  and  wholly  unlike  in  the 
constitution  of  their  minds,  as  in  their  habits  and  pursuits. 
In  one  thing  only  were  they  alike.  Neither  could  be  per 
suaded  to  do  any  thing  to-day,  which  might  be  put  off  till 
to-morrow  ;  a  weakness  which,  in  the  end,  proved  fatal  to 
both.  Forty  years  ago,  I  gave  in  ''  Randolph  "  portraitures  of 
these  two  individuals,  which,  as  they  were  painted  while 
we  were  on  the  most  familiar  terms,  and  they  were  sitting  to 
me  day  after  day.  I  have  no  doubt  were  truthful  and  exact ; 
but  I  dare  not  refer  to  them  now,  choosing  to  trust  to  my 
recollections,  without  help,  in  all  such  matters,  and  wishing 
to  give  my  present  impressions,  without  reference  to  the  past. 

Paul  Allen  was  a  Rhode-Islander,  born,  if  I  do  not  mis 
take,  in  Providence.  At  an  early  period,  he  took  to  writing ; 
and  step  by  step  —  I  know  not  how,  for  I  never  questioned 
him  about  his  early  life,  and  he  was  not  of  a  communicative 
disposition  —  he  managed  to  climb  into  the  editorial  chair  of 
"  Bronson's  United-States  Gazette,"  which  was  then  reckoned 
among  the  ablest  journals  of  the  country.  The  reputation  he 
gained  there,  led  to  his  being  employed  as  the  editor  and 
compiler  of  *'  Lewis  and  Clark's  Tour  ;  "  and  then,  to  his  being 
engaged,  it  was  hoped  for  life,  as  editor  of  the  "  Federal 
Republican  and  Baltimore  Telegraph."  immediately  after 
the  great  Baltimore  mob,  where  General  Lingan  was  mur 
dered,  and  where  Professor  Hoffman  would  have  been  strung 
up,  without  judge  or  jury,  on  a  tree-branch,  yet  overhang 
ing  Jones's  Falls,  but  for  the  providential  interference  of  a 
stranger,  who  satisfied  the  murderers  that  they  had  got  hold 
of  the  wrong  man. 

Alexander  Hanson,  the  predecessor  of  Allen,  had  narrowly 
escaped  with  his  life,  and  was  in  no  condition  for  renewing 
his  editorial  labors,  after  the  outrages  he  endured  in  the 
defence  of  his  printing-establishment;  and  so  Allen  was  en 
listed  —  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  men  that  ever  breathed, 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  207 

and  wholly  unfitted  for  the  editorial  duties  of  such  a  paper 
as  the  k>  Federal  Republican,"  at  such  a  time,  when  the  whole 
country  was  in  commotion,  and  no  neutrals  were  permitted  to 
breathe  in  Baltimore  ;  as  timid  and  shy  as  a  woman,  and, 
like  Oliver  Goldsmith,  whom  he  resembled  in  many  other 
particulars,  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  world,  though  he 
wrote  fiercely,  and  seemed  to  invite  a  renewal  of  the  outrage, 
day  after  day.  and  month  after  month. 

When  he  wrote  "  Noah,"  I  do  not  now  remember.  It  was 
Mihmitted  to  me  in  manuscript  long  before  he  would  consent 
to  publish  even  the  small  portion  I  thought  so  well  of  as  to 
say.  that,  old-fashioned  as  it  was.  and  entirely  out  of  {dace 
among  the  new  lights  of  our  day.  Scott  and  Byron  and 
Shelley,  the  sooner  he  had  it  off  his  hands,  the  better.  It 
had  grown  musty,  and  smelt  of  the  dead  past,  too  decidedly 
not  to  need  airing.  And  so  about  one-third  of  it  was  pub 
lished,  only  to  be  overlooked  by  those  who  had  the  highest 
expectations,  and  the  greatest  reverence  for  the  man  himself. 

After  this,  he  left  the  "Telegraph."  and  established  the 
'•Journal  of  the  Times;"  and  that  falling  through  at  the 
end  of  a  year,  a  new  daily  paper  was  set  up,  with  capital 
furnished  by  one  of  his  young,  enthusiastic  admirers  from 
Virginia,  which  continued,  I  know  not  how  long,  under  his 
supervision — gasping  and  asthmatic  to  the  last,  with  occa 
sional  paroxysms,  which  threatened  a  still  speedier  dissolu 
tion,  till  it  gave  up  the  ghost. 

At  the  time  I  knew  Paul  Allen,  he  must  have  been  about 
fortv  or  forty-five  :  a  small  man,  stooping  in  his  gait,  near 
sighted,  and  slovenly  both  in  his  habits  and  dress  ;  resembling 
Oliver  Goldsmith  so  much  in  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  that 
I  never  could  look  at  him  in  our  club,  after  we  christened 
him  Solomon  Fitzquiz,  without  thinking  of  poor  Oliver, 
sitting  up  in  a  high  chair  —  so  high  that  he  could  not  touch 
the  floor  with  his  feet  —  and  listening  to  the  talk  of  Sir 
Joshua,  and  Burke,  and  others  of  that  stripe,  for  hours  to 
gether,  without  once  opening  his  mouth. 

Wat  kins,  on  the  contrary?  was  a  man  of  the  wrorld.  Born, 
I  believe,  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Maryland,  he  had  managed 
to  run  through  a  handsome  estate,  long  before  he  had  found 
out  what  he  was  good  for,  when  he  married  a  daughter  of 


208  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

George  Simpson,  cashier  of  the  old  United-States  Bank  at 
Philadelphia,  entered  upon  his  profession  as  a  surgeon,  re 
moved  to  Baltimore,  became  a  leader  of  the  masons  there  — 
I  might  say  the  leader,  for  when  I  knew  him,  he  was  on  the 
topmost  round  of  the  ladder  —  «"ot  an  appointment  as  an 
assistant  surgeon-general  in  the  United-States  army,  estab 
lished  a  medical  monthly,  and  then  the  '•  Portico  ;  "  and  after 
a  long  and  patient  struggle,  which  continued  for  many  years, 
found  himself  utterly  ruined  —  shipwrecked  and  beggared, 
poor  fellow  !  —  with  a  large  family  of  promising  children  upon 
his  hands,  and  a  wife  such  as  few  men  are  ever  happy  enough 
to  meet  with,  in  this  world.  Out  of  compassion,  chiefly  — 
though  his  scholarship  and  talents  were  generally  ac 
knowledged,  and  his  literary  reputation  was  only  second  to 
that  of  "  Robert  Walsh,  Jr.,  Esq..  the  American  Gentle 
man " —  he  received  an  appointment  from  Mr.  J.  Q.  Adams, 
that  of  Secretary  to  the  Spanish-Commission,  who  must  have 
understood  his  character,  and  where  the  danger  lay ;  for  he 
said  to  him,  "  Dr.  Watkins,  the  salary  is  two  thousand  dol 
lars  :  there  are  no  perquisites" 

Not  long  after  this,  I  saw  him  at  Washington,  and  found 
him  keeping  a  carriage.  When  I  remonstrated  with  him,  as 
I  had  done  more  than  once  at  Baltimore,  with  some  advantage, 
I  trust,  to  his  family,  he  answered.  "  Why,  my  dear  fellow  ! 
you  don't  understand  our  usages  here.  It  would  cost  me  five 
dollars  a  day  for  coach-hire ;  and  my  carriage  not  only  saves 
me  this,  but  occasionally  earns  me  something  for  my  family." 
Of  course,  knowing  the  man  as  I  did,  it  were  preposterous  to 
question  him  farther,  and-  so  I  held  my  peace  ;  but  I  could 
not  help  recalling  a  similar  answer  he  had  given  me  in  Balti 
more,  when  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not  take  a  lower  rent  for 
his  family,  as  he  had  no  practice  to  trouble  him,  and  was 
living  in  one  of  the  handsomest  houses,  and  in  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  streets,  of  the  town.  "  Why,  bless  your 
heart!"  said  he,  "the  government  allows  me  for  office-hire ; 
and  so,  you  see,  it  brings  down  my  rent  to  what  I  can  afford." 
As  if  the  office-hire  would  not  have  been  continued,  had  he 
taken  a  house  for  half  the* money  he  was  then  paying.  I  did 
not  then  know,  by  the  way,  though  I  soon  had  occasion  to 
know,  that  he  owed  rent  for  several  years  to  his  landlord, 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  209 

and  had  not  paid  him  a  cent  for  nobody  knows  how  long ;  and 
that,  when  he  set  oft'  on  his  inspection-tour,  leaving  me  to 
carry  the  kl  Portico  "  through  the  press,  with  not  more  than 
half  copy  enough,  he  had  left  his  dear  family  —  and  no  man 
had  ever  more  love  for  children  and  wife  than  he  had.  or 
greater  reason  for  it — liable  to  he  turned  into  the  street, 
bair  and  bairi.rai:e.  by  the  exasperated  landlord,  whom  he  had 
promised  to  pay  off.  before  he  went  away. 

With  sueh  habits,  being  both  generous  and  extravagant  — 
a  man  who  would  sooner  empty  his  pockets  into  the  lap  of  a 
stranger,  than  pay  his  butcher  or  grocer  —  he  was  always 
laboring  under  embarrassment,  up  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
But  his  la<t  days  were,  indeed,  his  best  days.  After  the  clos 
ing  up  of  the  Spanish-Commission,  President  Adams  gave 
him  the  appointment  of  Auditor —  Fourth  Auditor,  if  I  do  not 
mistake  —  in  the  Treasury  department  ;  Watkins  having 
written  much  and  well  in  favor  of  Adams,  when  he  was  one 
of  the  five  candidates  for  the  Presidential  chair.  When 
Jackson  was  elected,  there  was  diligent  inquisition  made, 
without  loss  of  time,  into  the  accounts  of  all  who  had  been 
busy  with  politics  and  electioneering.  Defaulters  were 
found  in  every  department  ;  and.  among  them,  our  friend 
Watkins.  for  a  small  amount,  not  over  two  or  three  thousand 
dollars,  if  my  memory  serves  me.  Whereupon,  the  general 
turned  him  out  of  otlice,  had  him  pursued  at  law.  obtained 
judgment,  and  sent  him  to  jail,  where  he  was  confined  for  a 
long  time  —  I  know  not  how  long — with  a  sign  over  the 
door,  ordered  by  Jackson  himself,  to  "•  feed  fat  his  ancient 
grudge,"  whereon  was  inscribed  not  "  Debtor's  Apartment,' 
but  "  Criminal's  Apartment."  Was  there  ever  any  thing 
more  characteristic  of  that  wilful,  unforgiving,  inexorable 
man.  who  was  made  President  by  the  war-cry,  or  war- 
whoop  rather,  of  '•  Hurrah  for  Jackson  !  "  —  being  literally 
hurrahed  into  the  chair. 

The  personal  appearance  of  Watkins  was  very  much  in 
his  favor.  Above  the  middling  stature,  well-proportioned, 
with  great  dignity  of  carriage,  and  a  captivating  warmth  of 
manner,  which  I  think  Sheridan  himself  might  have  thought 
desirable,  when  he  had  to  do  with  importunate  creditors,  and 
wanted  to  fob  them  off,  without  losing  their  good  opinion,  he 


210  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

was,  with  all  his  faults,  a  universal  favorite.  With  a  fresh, 
handsome  countenance,  a  clear  dark-blue  eye.  and  a  pleasant 
smile,  he  was  just  the  man  to  make  a  favorable  impression 
upon  the  multitude,  and  especially  upon  strangers. 

But,  as  I  have  said  before,  his  last  days  were  his  best  day-. 
In  fact,  after  his  liberation  from  the  criminal's  apartment,  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  he  became  a  changed  man.  heart 
and  soul.  At  any  rate,  I  do  know  that  he  deserved  to  rank 
with  Christian  heroes,  if  not  with  martyrs.  The  last  lime  I 
saw  him.  he  was  keeping  a  common  school,  in  an  old  tumble 
down  brick  building,  one  of  a  large  block,  in  Alexandria  ; 
and  though  evidently  impoverished,  and  well  stricken  in 
years,  and  more  serious  than  I  had  ever  seen  him,  he  ap 
peared  to  be  both  submissive  and  resigned,  uttering  no  word 
of  complaint  or  reproach,  and  looking  as  if,  though  ready  to 
go.  if  called  for.  he  was  not  weary  of  life,  nor  in  any  hurry 
for  the  translation. 

Hereafter,  when  it  comes  in  my  way,  I  hope  to  give  a 
sketch  of  Winder,  Gwinn,  Readel,  and  others  who  belonged 
to  our  club  of  Delphians  ;  for.  after  all,  it  is  to  them,  and  to 
that  association,  that  I  am  indebted  for  the  best  part  of  my 
doings,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  happiness  I  enjoyed  at  the 
South.  High-minded,  generous,  unselfish  men,  they  were  both 
intellectual  and  companionable,  indulgent,  and,  with  all  their 
whims  and  freaks,  original,  and  clearly  stamped  with  the 
idiosyncrasies  that  distinguish  one  superior  man  from  an 
other. 

By  this  time,  I  had  acquired  a  reputation  worth  having  — 
at  least,  for  taking  bulls  by  the  horns  —  for  energy,  prompti 
tude,  and  faithfulness.  My  next  enterprise  of  a  literary 
nature  was  the  following.  Mr.  Hezekiah  Niles,  editor  and 
proprietor  of  "  Xiles5  Register,"  as  he  called  it,  for  the  same 
excellent  reason,  perhaps,  that  led  him  to  say,  and  even  to 
write,  "  She  had  went,"  because  he  knew  no  better,  had  a 
large  property  locked  up  in  that  publication,  which  hnd  grown 
to  be  an  authority  and  a  power  in  the  land  —  a  library  of 
itself,  in  fact,  for  the  politicians  and  statesmen  of  the  age; 
but  every  thing  depended  upon  having  an  index,  and  a  good 
index,  both  comprehensive  and  minute,  for  the  first  twelve 
volumes.  With  such  a  help,  the  accumulated  rubbish  of 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  211 

years,  otherwise  comparatively  worthless,  would  be  a  golden 
treasure  for  the  future.  They  would  become  indispensable, 
briniriiiir  in  sixty  or  einhtv  dollars  a  set.  to  beirin  with,  instead 
of  selling  tor  waste  paper:  and  securing  the  sale  of  whatever 
he  miirht  publish  thereafter  as  a  continuation.  Ile/ekiah  was 
a  shrewd  calculator,  far-seeing,  crafty,  and  sagacious  :  a  truly 
honest  man.  a  patriot,  and  a  chri.-tian.  He  wrote  also  with 
a  solidity,  strength,  and  precision,  quite  remarkable  for  a  self- 
educated  man.  without  the  least  pretension  to  genius,  or  learn 
ing,  or  scholarship  :  and.  in  manv  things,  much  resembled  his 
great  prototypes.  William  Cobbett  and  Dr.  Franklin.  With 
out  beinu  illiberal,  he  was  never  a  generous  man.  and  never 
unjust.  Indefatigable  and  precise  in  every  thing,  he  was 
capable  of  enlarged  and  comprehensive  views,  that  resembled 
statesmanship,  and  was  so  entirelv  devoted  to  his  one  work, 
'•The  Register."  and  so  trustworthy,  that,  in  his  hands,  it  had 
become  a  necessity  for  all  our  public-men  ;  and,  if  he  could 
only  manage  to  get  up  the  index  he  wanted,  it  would  be  a 
fortune  for  himself  and  family. 

Being  satisfied  at  last,  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose,  if  he 
would  not  waste  the  labor  of  a  life,  and  afraid  to  trust  any- 
bodv  else,  he  undertook  to  prepare  an  index  for  himself,  when 
the  publication  had  reached  the  twelfth  volume;  but  soon 
gave  it  up.  in  despair,  acknowledging  that  he  found  it  impossi 
ble  to  satisfy  himself,  and  that  paragraphing  for  "  The  Reg 
ister,"  about  the  dailv  occurrences  of  the  world  he  was 
acquainted  with,  however  judicious  and  apt,  was  a  very  dif 
ferent  thing  from  condensing  the  history  of  that  world  for 
many  years,  and  compiling  a  dictionary,  under  the  name  of 
an  Index.  He  then  applied  to  a  man  of  respectable  talents, 
and  of  some  literary  pretension  —  as  if  scholarship,  or  a  taste 
for  literature,  or  even  talents,  were  required  for  such  miser 
able  drudgery  —  who  undertook  the  job,  finished  it,  after  a 
fashion,  and  brought  him  the  manuscript,  which  he  run  his 
eye  over,  paid  for,  and  then  threw  aside  among  the  waste 
paper  that  he  was  never  to  look  at  again. 

Well-nigh  discouraged,  though  feeling  more  and  more  the 
necessity  of  accomplishing  what  he  had  set  his  heart  upon,  lie 
concluded  to  try  our  friend  Watkins.  Uut  no:  the  doctor 
was  not  to  be  caught  with  chaff;  and,  when  the  terms  were 


212  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

mentioned,  lost  no  time  in  assuring  Mr.  Niles,  that  other 
engagements  were  in  the  way,  and  he  could  not  think  of  med 
dling  with  so  serious  a  matter,  till  the  pressure  was  off,  which 
might  not  he  for  years,  it'  ever.  But,  before  they  separated, 
he  mentioned  our  friend  Pierpont  and  myself,  both  needy,  and 
both  capable  of  almost  any  thing  that  would  be  likely  to  pay. 
On  applying  to  my  old  partner,  he  withstood  the  temptation, 
though,  like  the  apostle,  he  had  begun  to  *•  count  it  all  joy  to 
be  led  into  divers  temptations,"  being  strengthened  thereby  ; 
and  sent  him  to  me,  as  the  only  man,  living,  who  could  turn 
off  such  a  job,  within  a  reasonable  time,  and  in  a  workmanlike 
fashion;  for  hadn't  I  just  given  the  proof — I,  a  poet,  glow 
ing  with  inward  fire,  and  almost  ready  for  a  display  of  spon 
taneous  combustion  —  by  compiling  an  index  to  Ileeves  and 
Gould's  lectures,  and  writing  five  hundred  pages  of  manu 
script,  on  "large  letter-paper,  constituting  the  fourth  volume,  in 
ten  days?  On  mentioning  this  to  our  friend  Niles,  he  jumped 
up,  and,  saying  that  1  was  the  very  man  he  wanted,  started 
off  to  find  me.  I  was  burrowing  then  in  a  front  room,  third 
story  of  a  house,  corner  of  North  Charles  Street,  which 
had  crystallized  into  a  sort  of  dodecahedron,  with  a  fireplace  in 
one  of  the  angles,  and  windows  to  match.  We  soon  met,  and 
came  to  a  clear  understanding.  I  was  to  complete  the  work 
without  delay  ;  and  when  it  was  finished,  if  it  suited  him,  he 
was  to  pay  me — how  much,  think  you,  for  a  canvass-back 
supper?  How  much,  for  what  would  be  worth  to  him  thou 
sands  of  dollars?  Take  your  own  time,  after  what  I  have 
told  you  of  his  character.  Why,  two  hundred  dollars  ;  other 
wise,  nothing.  Now  picture  to  yourself  this  kind-hearted,  hon 
est,  enterprising,  and  sagacious  man,  chaffering  with  me,  in 
the  off-hand  way  I  have  mentioned,  neither  of  us  having  the 
least  idea  of  what  I  was  desired  to  undertake,  for  the  miser 
able  sum  offered,  and  offered  conditionally,  and  waiting  my 
answer:  he,  a  man  of  large  business-experience,  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  as  I  recollect  him  now  ;  I,  a  poet,  in  the  fiower 
of  early  manhood  —  say  twenty-six  or  thereabouts,  for  I  am  un 
able  to  fix  the  year  just  now :  he,  thin,  stooping,  and  weather- 
beaten,  with  a  sharp  eye  and  compressed  lips  ;  and  I,  flushed 
with  health,  erect  and  manly,  full  of  confidence  in  myself,  and 
ready  for  any  thing,  short  of  the  highway,  or  a  dose  of  lauda- 


LITERACY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  213 

num.  All  Grub-Street  to  a  penny-whistle,  that  I  should  laugh 
in  his  face.  But  no  :  instead  of  that.  I  jumped  at  the  offer,  like 
a  cock  at  a  gooseberry,  and  went  straightway  to  work. 

Having  had  some  little  experience  —  very  little,  I  must 
acknowledge  now,  though  I  did  not  think  so  then,  as.  I  well 
remember.  I  fancied  I  had  made  a  capital  bargain.  I  began 
with  taking  twenty-four  small  writing-books,  which  I  lettered 
on  the  outside.  A.  15.  C.  c\:c.  I  then  opened  at  the  iirst  paije 
of  the  first  volume,  and  made  all  the  references  required  ; 
and  then  went  through  the  whole,  page  by  page.  Then  I  took 
the  second,  and  in  that  way.  went  through  with  the-  twelve  vol 
umes,  containing.  I  should  say.  about  the  substance  of  twenty- 
five  large  octavos.  A  single  item  would  sometimes  require 
from  half  a  dozen  to  a  dozen  references,  and  even  more. 
Suppose  I  came  to  •'  Krie  :  "  that  would  oblige  me  to  mention 
"  Perrv  ;  "  and  then  the  ship  he  was  in;  and  then  something 
would  have  to  be  entered  under  ••  Lakes/'  ••  Battles,"  "  Naval 
Actions."  and  perhaps  other  heads. 

On  this  undertaking.  I  labored,  upon  the  average,  sixteen 
hours  a  dav.  every  dav.  including  sabbaths;  and  never  taking 
an  hour  for  exercise  or  amusement,  for  full  four  months  ;  and 
I  doubt  if  the  man  lives,  who  could  go  through  the  same 
work  in  less  than  twelve  or  eighteen  months.  At  last,  how 
ever,  it  was  finished.  I  had  copied  all  my  twenty-four  small 
books,  together  with  half  as  manv  more,  into  a  lar^e  volume, 
alphabetical! v  arranged,  and  lost  no  time  in  telling  friend 
Ilezekiah  that  I  was  ready  for  a  final  interview.  We  met 
forthwith  ;  and  the  first  thing  he  did.  was  to  ask  what  had 
become  of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  volumes,  which  I  had 
never  seen  nor  heard  of.  Here  was  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish! 
I  had  bargained  for  twelve  ;  he.  in  his  o\vn  mind,  without 
mentioning  it  to  me.  for  fourteen.  The  twelve  had  been  left 
with  me  ;  the  other  two,  as  I  have  said  before.  I  had  never 
seen,  nor  heard  of.  And  now  what  was  to  be  done  ?  I  was 
in  no  humor  for  going  over  the  whole  index  again,  and  inter 
polating  the  last  two  volumes  ;  nor  was  it  really  needed, 
though  it  would  have  been  very  convenient.  I  dare  say,  for 
my  employer.  My  work  was  finished.  I  longed  for  a  mouth 
ful  of  fresh  air.  I  wanted  to  run  home  to  mv  mother,  and 
finish  "  Niagara "  and  ••  Goldau, "  upon  which  1  had  been 


214  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

at  work  —  when  all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  asleep,  or 
ought  to  have  been  —  after  the  drudgery  was  over,  and  with 
out  the  knowledge  of  a  human  being,  for  the  whole  of  these 
four  months  ;  and  I  longed  to  be  at  large,  where  I  might  feel 
my  wings,  and  trv  them  in  the  blue  empyrean.  Of  course, 
we  were  in  no  humor  for  trifling  or  higgling ;  and  when  I 
positively  refused  to  touch  the  other  volumes,  the  worthy 
man  had  the  good  sense  —  I  should  like  to  say  the  magna 
nimity,  if  my  conscience  would  permit  such  a  thing  —  to  accept 
the  manuscript,  with  many  thanks,  and  to  pay  me,  not  only  the 
two  hundred  dollars  I  had  so  handsomely  earned,  but  to  pre 
sent  me  with  the  copy  of  his  "  Register,"  half  bound  and  com 
plete,  worth  about  a  hundred  dollars  at  the  time,  I  believe  ; 
and.  the  next  day,  I  was  off  to  Portland. 

At  the  time  I  was  engaged  on  the  Index,  the  "  Register  " 
was  making  war  upon  our  paper  currency,  and  upon  what  the 
editor  called  rau-barons  and  shin-plasters.  One  day,  being 
about  to  issue  a  new  volume,  he  applied  to  me  for  a  New- 
Year's  Address,  the  only  thing  of  the  sort  I  ever  attempted. 
It  was  thought  clever  bv  some  good  people,  though  I  durst  not 
indulge  at  all  in  what  I  considered  pleasantry,  and  had  precious 
little  of  the  humorous  in  me.  One  single  line,  or  rather  a 
part  of  one  single  line,  do  I  remember.  I  had  flung  a  dart 
or  two  at  the  '•  Rag-baron's  hope  and  the  stockholder's  joy," 
and  took  occasion  to  laugh  at  the  prevailing  style  of  the  day, 
in  metaphors,  venturing  to  say,  "and  years,  by  the  Lord ! 
that  have  rolled.''  which  he  had  the  good  sense  to  change  into 
"  and  years  of  the  Lord,  that  have  rolled ! "  So  much  for 
editorial  emendations  !  It  reminds  me  of  a  letter  written  to 
Mr.  Pierpont  by  a  learned  theologian,  who  had  just  been 
reading  the  "  Airs  of  Palestine."  The  reverend  gentleman 
could  not  forbear  calling  his  attention  to  a  strange  oversight 
in  the  proof-reading  ;  for,  said  he,  if  you  will  turn  to  page  so 
and  so,  you  will  find,  where  you  say,  speaking  of  Venus, 
"•pure  as  her  parent  form''  the  blockheads  have  printed  it, 
'•pure  as  her  parent  foam!  "  And  this  reminds  me,  that  in 
a  review  of  the  "Airs,"  written  bv  me,  which  appeared  in  the 
"Analectic  Magazine,"  where  I  had  quoted  something  from 
the  rattlesnake  of  Chateaubriand,  which  Mr.  Pierpont  had 
borrowed  for  the  occasion,  saying  of  music  personified,  and 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  215 

of  the  reptile  subdued  by  the  flute,  among  other  characteris 
tics,  that  "  He  bitres  his  fangs  but  to  inhale  lier  breatli."  I 
was  made  to  sav,  and  so  was  the  unhappy  author,  "and  bears 
his  tallies  but.  to  inhale  her  breath/'  meaning  tlie  breatli  of 
music.  af«T  Chateaubriand.  But  this  was  a  trifle  comj)ared 
with  SOUK-  of  my  experiences  with  proof-readers;  for  on  an 
other  occasion,  apropos  to  nothing'  I  now  remember,  having 
written.  "Thank  ( iod.  I  have  no  innocent  blood  on  my 
skirts  to  answer  for."  they  printed  it.  "Thank  Clod.  I  have  no 
innocent  blood  on  my  s/iirts  to  answer  for"  —the  rascals!  — 
or  blockhead-  —  I  don't  know  which. 

But  1  was  far  from  being  satislied  with  myself:  and  while 
occupied  with  the  "Index  to  Xiles'  Register."  as  he  called  it, 
instead  of  Giles's  Register,  liavinir  written  two  long  poems, 
'•  Niagara  "  and  "  Goldau."  and  got  together  enough  to  make 
a  decent  volume  of  miscellaneous  and  fugitive  pieces,  to 
gether  with  a  tragedy,  in  live  acts  —  all  under  way  at  the 
same  time  —  I  brought  out  the  volume  of  poetrv.  while 
AVatkins  and  Pierpont  were1  both  out  of  hearing,  for  which 
I  received  one  hundre<l  dollars  in  law  books  ;  and  soon  after, 
on  my  return  from  the  visit  to  my  mother,  my  tragedy  of 
'•  Otho.''  for  which  I  received  of  mv  Boston  publishers,  in 
cash,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  another  hundred  dollars.  But  even 
this  did  not  satisfv  me,  coupled  though  it  was  with  mv  edi 
torship.  I  wanted  more  work,  enough  to  keep  me  out  of 
mischief,  or  at  least  employed,  night  and  day,  for  the  rest 
of  mv  life.  Having  lost  so  much  time  in  beginning,  I  deter 
mined  to  lose  no  more,  if  1  could  help  it ;  and  so.  therefore,  no 
sooner  was  I  admitted  to  the  bar.  again-t  a  strong  combination, 
who  were  opposed  to  me  upon  three  several  grounds  —  first,  that 
I  was  a  broken  merchant ;  secondly,  that  I  was  uneducated  ; 
and.  thirdly,  that  I  was  a  Yankee  —  than  I  set  to  work 
upon  a  serie>  of  romances  and  novels,  which  I  threw  oil'  at 
the  rate  of  two  or  three  volumes  a  month,  while  attending  to 
my  law  business,  and  continuing  my  studies  of  history,  meia- 
phvsii^.  political-economy,  and  languages, 

Of  all  these  book.>  I  >iiall  have  something  to  say  hereafter  ; 
but.  just  now.  must  content  myself  with  giving  two  or  three 
brief  specimens  of  the  encouragement  I  met  with  from  our 
leading  reviewers,  when  I  first  began  to  make  a  noise  in  the 
neighborhood. 


216  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

The  "  North  American,"  Mr.  Charming,  was  the  first  to  let 
flv  at  me  ;  and  then  there  was  another  —  only  one  other  that  I 
ever  heard  of — who  ventured  to  criticise,  instead  of  puffing 
me. 

In  my  review  of  Byron,  I  had  thought  proper  to  say  that 
something  he  had  written  was  "infinitely  nearer"  the  flowery 
path  of  Moore,  than  that  which  he  had  chosen,  over  preci 
pices  and  mountain  crags.  This,  the  celebrated  "  Robert 
Walsh,  Jr.,  Esquire,"  fastened  upon  —  with  great  propriety,  I 
must  acknowledge,  though  he  needn't  have  been  so  spiteful  — 
and  asked  how  one  thing  could  be  infinitely  nearer  to  another? 
Of  course,  I  had  nothing  to  say  for  myself  in  reply.  It  was 
a  wretched  colloquialism. 

But,  with  the  next  plunge,  he  went  beyond  his  depth.  In 
the  fragment  of  a  poem  entitled  the  "  Conquest  of  Peru,"  and 
printed  with  "  Niagara."  I  had  ventured  to  say  that  somebody 
—  the  hero,  I  suppose,  if  I  had  a  hero,  and  how  that  was,  I  do 
not  now  remember  —  "  saw  the  Invisible  at  work."  This,  the 
dear  man  declared  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  Irish  bull. 
But  there  I  had  him;  had  he  not  seen  the  wind  at  work? 
And  was  not  the  wind  invisible  ?  And  then,  he  assailed  two 
of  my  characters  in  "  Otho  "  —  Ola,  the  hero,  and  Ala,  the 
heroine  —  saying  my  tragedy  was  all  about  Oh  la,  and  Ah  la ! 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  that  there  he  had  me  ;  and  I  never 
forgave  him,  so  far  as  I  now  recollect,  until  I  had  my 
revenge. 

One  day,  not  long  after  these  criticisms  reached  me,  I  hap 
pened  to  be  in  the  shop  of  Maxwell,  my  publisher,  and  was 
asked  to  read  a  certain  paper,  which  had  been  prepared  for  the 
Maryland  legislature  by  nobody  knew  whom,  in  relation  either 
to  lotteries,  or  to  the  Washington  monument,  I  forget  which. 
"  They  believed  it  was  written  by  General  Winder,"  said  Mr. 
Maxwell.  I  thought  otherwise,  though,  as  it  was  a  bit  of 
respectable  composition,  without  any  decided  flavor  or 
individuality  of  style,  and  such  as  men  characterize  by  say 
ing,  "  You  cannot  blame  'tis  true,  but  you  may  sleep."  it  might 
have  been  his.  After  a  while,  however,  I  lighted  upon  the 
following  passage :  "  With  insane  alacrity  and  distempered 
vigor."  '*  Upon  my  word,"  I  exclaimed,  "  there,  now,  is 
something  characteristic ;  but,  then,  it  is  so  utterly  unlike  all 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  217 

the  rest  of  the  article,  it  must  have  been  furnished  by  some 
body  else,  or  borrowed,  or  stolen."  Two  or  three  days  after 
this,  my  friend  Maxwell  informed  me  that  he  had  found 
out  who  wrote  the  paper.  It  was.  in  fact,  no  less  a  personage 
than  "  Robert  Walsh.  Jr.,  Esquire,"  himself:  he  had  been  so 
assured  by  a  brother  of  that  gentleman,  who  had  copied  it  for  the 
press.  When  lie  told  him  what  I  had  said  about  the  line  pas 
sage,  above  mentioned,  the  brother  was  indignant  ;  and 
though  a  very  clever  fellow,  in  his  way.  with  a  good  opinion 
of  me.  on  the  whole,  thought  proper  to  feel  surprised  at  my 
"presumption,"  as  he  called  it. 

Within  the  next  year,  while  I  was  going  through  with  the 
Baltimore  Athenaeum  library  —  I  believe  that  was  the  name  : 
it  was  the  only  public  library  in  Baltimore,  and  the  entries 
well  show  that  1  was  no  idler  at  the  time  —  I  happened  to 
get  hold  of  "  Burke's  Speeches  ;  "  and  among  them  was  one 
—  the  first  I  opened  —  before  the  Electors  of  Liverpool  — 
wherein,  to  my  unspeakable  amazement  —  and  satisfaction, 
too,  I  must  acknowledge  —  I  lighted  on  that  very  combina 
tion  of  words,  which  Mr.  Walsh  was  so  incapable  of — "in 
sane  alacrity  and  distempered  vigor."  Of  course,  owing  the 
gentleman  a  grudge.  I  lost  no  time  in  hunting  up  his  brother, 
a  clerk  or  book-keeper  in  the  employment  of  Mayhew  and 
Burt,  who  were  among  our  largest  creditors,  and  informing 
him  of  the  discovery.  He  was  thunderstruck  —  utterlv  over 
whelmed  ;  but,  after  some  consideration,  he  recovered  so  far 
as  to  say,  writh  a  faltering  voice,  and  troubled  eye,  that  he 
must  have  omitted  the  inverted  commas  in  copying.  Where 
upon,  I  let  him  off.  But,  although  "  my  ancient  grudge  had 
been  fed  fat,"  I  was  far  from  being  satisfied  ;  and  so,  having 
occasion  to  tell  the  story  in  "  Blackwood,"  I  took  occasion  to 
say,  that  for  '•  Robert  Walsh,  Jr.,  Esquire,  to  steal  from  Edmund 
Burke,  and  hope  to  conceal  the  theft,  was  too  preposterous  for 
belief.  As  well  might  he  try  to  hide  a  red-hot  thunderbolt  in 
a  snowr-bauk."  And  I  might  have  gone  further,  and  suggested, 
as  I  do  now,  that  if  he  had  succeeded  for  a  time,  like  the 
Spartan  boy  with  the  stolen  fox,  he  would  have  been  betrayed 
at  last  in  the  same  way,  by  having  his  vitals  eaten  through. 
And  I  do  believe  it  wTould  have  done  him  good.  As  it  was,  how 
ever,  though  he  never  wrote  in  any  other  than  a  dead  Ian- 


218  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

guage,  of  the  Blair  and  Allison  type,  the  red-hot  thunderbolt 
and  snow-bank  followed  him,  like  a  sleuth-hound,  to  his  dying 
day;  and  we  were  quits. 

P.S.  —  Another  of  these  unfavorable  reviews  has  just  been 
brought  to  my  recollection.  It  was  written  by  Mr.  Holly,  for 
a  New-York  magazine,  of  which  he  was  the  editor,  and  was 
really  smart,  and.  in  the  main,  pretty  fair.  This  I  anticipated 
by  beginning  a  review  in  the  style  of  the  writer,  in  these 
words  u  America  was  discovered  by  Christopher  Columbus, 
in  1492." 

And  now  for  a  summary  view  of  my  literary  labors,  up  to 
the  time  of  my  going  abroad.  Bear  with  me,  I  pray  you  — 
for  I  mean  to  be  very  brief —  and  remember,  that  if  a  man 
should  say  that  in  praise  of  himself,  which,  if  said  of  him  by 
another,  would  be  taken  for  truth  —  or  perhaps  for  something 
short  of  the  truth  —  he  would  be  called  the  vainest  creature 
alive.  A  few  words,  nevertheless,  upon  what  I  now  consider 
their  merits  and  faults  ;  or,  if  you  will,  of  their  excellencies  and 
absurdities.  At  my  age,  I  claim  to  be  rather  above  the  com 
mon  partialities  of  authorship,  for  the  abandoned  offspring  of 
my  youth  ;  and  having  notions  of  my  own  about  the  falsehood 
and  hypocrisy,  which  pass  for  modesty,  where  men  have  to 
sit  in  judgment  upon  themselves,  I  shall  endeavor  to  speak 
of  my  own  doings,  just  as  I  would  of  another's,  if  I  were 
called  upon  to  do  it  under  oath,  according  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief. 

And  here  let  me  say  — just  here  —  that  I  begin  to  be  some 
what  afraid  of  myself;  but  what  can  I  do  ?  Having  told  the 
same  story  no  less  than  three  times  before,  in  manuscripts  which 
have  been  destroyed,  and  being  constantly  interrupted,  some 
times  for  weeks  together,  I  do  not  feel  quite  sure,  on  entering 
what  appears  to  be  a  new  field,  that  I  have  not  already 
gleaned  it ;  and  so  thoroughly,  that,  notwithstanding  the  loss 
of  my  whole  manuscript,  by  the  last  great  fire,  I  may  be  found 
telling  a  thrice-told  tale  to  the  readers  of  what  I  am  now 
writing.  If  I  could  only  remember  what  I  have  written,  or 
not  written,  already  —  as  I  should,  if  I  were  allowed  to  go  on 
day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  without  interruption  — 
there  would  be  no  mumbling  nor  crooning  to  complain  of, 
notwithstanding  my  age.  Of  that  I  am  sure. 


LITERARY    GROWTH    CONTINUED.  219 

But  enough.  My  writing  for  the  ';  Portico "  continued 
from  June.  18'1G.  to  June,  181S.  "Keep  Cool."  in  two  vol 
umes,  appeared  in  June,  1817:  "Allen's  Revolution."  three 
hundred  and  forty  pages  octavo,  in  March,  1819  ;  "  Niagara'' 
and  "  Goldau."  first  edition,  Aug.  '2'2.  IS  IS —  second  edition, 
Julv,  1811)  :  ••  Otho."  a  tragedy,  in  181S  :  ••  Logan,"  two  vol 
umes,  at  Baltimore,  and  republished  in  three  volumes  over 
sea,  April  '2'2  ;  "  Seventy-Six,"  two  volumes  here,  and  three  in 
London:  "Randolph.''  two  volumes,  Julv.  182-');  and  "  Kr- 
rata,"  two  volumes,  November,  IS'2>}  —  amounting  altogether 
to  fifteen  or  twenty  volumes,  large  duodecimos,  without 
including  my  newspaper  and  magazine-articles,  and  editorial 
labors,  which.  I  have  no  doubt,  were  equal  to  at  least  six  or 
eight  volumes  more.  Many  of  these  works,  as  will  be  seen 
by  the  dates,  were  under  way  at  the  same  time  ;  and  some 
were  written  for  relief,  like  ''Niagara"  and  "Goldau"  and 
"  Otho,"  when  I  was  utterly  worn  out,  and  well-nigh  discour-. 
aged,  by  the  fearful  drudgery  1  had  to  undergo,  in  preparing 
the  Index  for  Niles's  Register;  and  others,  like  "Randolph" 
and  <%  Errata,"  only  that  characters,  and  incidents,  and  situa 
tions,  and  "  thick-coming  fancies."  which  were  not  always 
suited  to  the  story  I  was  reeling  otf.  might  not  be  lost. 

That  I  took  a  sincere  pleasure  in  writing,  may  well  be  sup 
posed  ;  or  how  could  I  have  done  all  this  in  so  short  a  time, 
without  ruining  mv  health,  unaccustomed  as  1  was  to  confine 
ment?  But  still,  1  say,  that,  up  to  the  time  of  my  marriage, 
I  had  never  been  so  happy,  as  while  writing  myself  to  death  ; 
which  many  of  my  best  friends  honestly  believed  I  was 
doing. 

That  I  was  ever  satisfied  with  myself.  I  deny.  Into  most 
of  my  writings  I  have  not  even  looked,  for  the  last  forty  or 
fiftv  years  :  while,  in  no  case,  have  1  ever  read  one  of  my 
books,  or  a  tithe  of  one,  since  they  were  written.  Of  some, 
too,  1  should  be  heartilv  ashamed,  were  it  not  that,  although 
I  have  outgrown  them,  and  outlived  them,  indeed,  I  feel  quite 
sure,  that  if  I  had  not  written  as  I  did,  I  never  should  have 
written  better.  We  learn  as  much  sometimes  by  our  failures, 
as  by  our  successes  —  perhaps  more;  at  any  rate,  I  do. 

But  I  must  finish  this  chapter,  already  somewhat  too  long, 
and  defer  my  criticisms  on  myself  to  the  next. 


220  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OFF     TO     ENGLAND. 

PROGRESS  OF  PORTLAND;  THE  BUILDIVG  LOAN;  MY  OWN  OPINION  OF 
MYSELF  AND  OF  MY  DOINGS;  REMINISCENCES  OF  "  SEVENTY-SIX ;" 
"LOGAN;"  -RANDOLPH;"  IMPRISONMENT  FOR  DEBT;  SLAVERY;  THE 
PINKNEY  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  RESULTS;  DUELS;  FLASH  IN  THE  PAN; 
MY  FIRST  NIGHT  IN  LONDON. 

SEPT.  22,  18G7.  —  Another  whole  month,  and  I  have  only 
written  what  I  might  have  thrown  off  in  a  single  day,  or,  at 
one  time  of  my  life,  in  half  a  day.  Yet  more  :  a  twelvemonth 
has  gone  by,  and  I  am  now  on  the  301st  page  of  manu 
script  ;  all  which,  if  I  had  not  been  otherwise  occupied,  or  in 
terfered  with,  I  could  have  written  with  ease  in  a  single  mouth, 
at  most. 

There  is  probably  more  "  building  "  now  under  way,  that 
makes  little  show,  than  there  has  been 'at  any  time  since  the 
fire.  At  first,  every  store,  every  shed  or  shanty,  could  be 
seen  from  every  part  of  the  city,  as  it  went  up ;  but  now 
that  whole  streets  have  been  rebuilt,  and  high  buildings  are 
interposed  by  the  acre,  we  have  to  turn  off  into  the  cross- 
streets  and  by-ways  to  see  what  is  going  on.  And  just  now 
we  have  the  new  post-office,  the  custom-house,  the  city-hall, 
the  Protestant  cathedral,  and  six  other  large  churches,  all  going 
up  together,  with  the  Woodman-block,  the  Boyd-block,  Brown's 
huge  hotel,  and  scores  of  smaller  blocks  and  private  dwell 
ings  in  every  part  of  the  "  burnt  district "  swarming  upward, 
as  if  we  had  borrowed  Aladdin's  lamp  for  a  while,  and  overtop 
ping  the  old  neighborhoods,  story  after  story.  And  then  we 
have  the  dry-dock  under  way,  and  our  water-works,  with  a 
subscribed  capital  of  eight  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  begin 
with,  new  factories,  and  an  Exchange  in  prospect. 

The  building-loan,  too,  is  undergoing  certain  wholesome 
qualifications,  which  must  help  forward  the  great  work  among 
our  middling  aud  poorer  classes.  While  our  large  property 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  221 

holders,  like  Mr.  J.  B.  Brown,  may  get  their  money  for  less 
than  six  per  cent,  by  taking  city  bonds,  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  at  a  time,  and  pledging  them  in  Wall  Street,  where  loans 
upon  such  security  may  be  had  for  five,  or  five  and  a  half  per 
cent,  the  citv-scrip  selling  for  9">  in  the  market,  our  hum 
bler  citizens  have  to  pay  7^'',.  The  trustees  of  the  loan  have 
adopted  two  or  three  rules  which  promise  to  work  well  for  the 
latter.  In  the  first  place,  they  give  the  preference  to  small 
freeholders,  who  want  a  few  hundreds  to  finish  off  with.  And 
then  they  refuse  to  loan  on  buildings  already  built,  while  they 
never  refuse  to  such  as  are  about  building,  provided  they  are 
offered  a  first  mortgage  on  satisfactory  title.  As  an  experi 
ment,  in  a  field  of  operations  altogether  new,  these  gentlemen 
have  managed  with  great  wisdom  and  success  ;  and  the  city  is 
full  of  stirring  life,  and  honest,  well-considered  enterprise. 
All  the  stores  and  houses  are  occupied,  as  fast  as  they  are  fin 
ished,  and  sometimes  when  barely  habitable  ;  though  the  num 
ber  is  much  greater  than  before  the  fire,  in  all  our  leading 
thoroughfares  and  business-quarters  ;  and  all  this,  in  less  than 
fourteen  months,  since  a  third  of  the  city  was  laid  in  allies. 
Our  valuation,  too,  would  be  largely  increased,  if  the  estimate 
had  been  delayed  three  or  four  months  ;  and  as  it  is,  made  on 
the  first  of  April,  it  falls  short  of  18GG,  before  the  fire,  only 
$690.274. 

At  last,  I  have  a  half-day  for  myself.  At  last !  In  the 
progress  of  Chapter  XIII.,  1  find,  on  referring  to  it  a  few  mo 
ments  ago.  that  I  intimated  something  in  relation  to  the  books 
I  had  written,  which  might  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  promise. 
Be  it  so.  My  opinion  of  other  writings  has  never  been  ill 
received  ;  and  in  every  case,  so  far  as  I  now  remember,  my 
judgment  has  been  confirmed,  sooner  or  later,  without  a  single 
exception.  How  it  may  be  with  regard  to  my  own  doings, 
will  be  seen  hereafter. 

Mv  first  novel,  "Judge  Not,"  &c.,  afterwards  changed  to 
''•  Keep  Cool,"  I  have  already  given  my  opinion  of;  and  all  I 
have  to  add  now  is,  that,  although  the  idea,  the  leading  idea, 
was  original  enough,  and  most  of  the  situations,  incidents,  arid 
characters  rather  out  of  the  common  way,  there  was  much  in 
it  of  what  even  a  younir  writer  might  well  be  ashamed  ;  much 
indeed  that  was  boyish,  if  not  absolutely  childish.  P.  S.  — 


222  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  have  just  seen  a  notice  in  the  papers  that  Mrs. has 

adopted  the  title  of  "Judge  Not,"  for  a  new  book  now  in 
press. 

Of  the  two  poems,  "  Niagara "  and  "  Goldau,"  I  am  not 
afraid  to  say,  that  they  do  contain  a  goodly  portion  of  poetry 
that  no  man  need  be  ashamed  of;  though  disfigured  by  ex 
travagance,  overloaded  with  imagery,  and  sure  to  be  misun 
derstood  by  the  great  mass  of  readers.  The  "  Fierce  Gray 
Bird,"  however,  has  become  national.  Even  Drake's  noble 
poem,  which  gave  him  the  best  part  of  his  wide  reputation, 
was  a  palpable  shadow  of  my  Thunderous  Bird,  which  he 
spoilt,  after  tearing  '•  the  milky  baldric  of  the  skies,"  and  set 
ting  the  stars  of  glory  there,  and  rolling  "the  thunder  drum 
of  heaven"  with  the  hand  of  a  giant,  by  saying  of  hi-?  Amer 
ican  Eagle,  that  "  Jove  called  his  thunder-bearer  down,"  and 
gave  "into  .  .  .  his  hand"  the  rainbow-flag.  And  if  the 
reader  would  like  to  see  for  himself  another  very  curious  resem 
blance,  let  him  hunt  up  the  poems  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  run 
his  eye  over  her  "  Crescentius,"  and  compare  it  with  "  Gol 
dau,"  in  measure,  plot,  and  character,  and  see  if  he  ever  saw 
a  more  astonishing  coincidence.  And  yet  Mrs.  Hemans  was 
then  at  the  meridian  of  her  glory,  and  with  her  "  Voice  of 
Spring,"  and  the  u  Pilgrim  Fathers,"  had  established  herself, 
as  among  the  most  gifted  of  her  day.  She  was  eminently 
original,  too ;  was  never  guilty  of  imitation,  so  far  as  I  know, 
nor  of  borrowing,  or  thieving;  and  yet  there  stands  the  naked 
fact;  and  if  the  resemblance  be  accidental,  it  is  indeed  aston 
ishing.  I  have  not  seen  "  Crescentius  "  since  about  1823,  nor 
have  I  read  "  Goldau  "  since  it  first  appeared.  I  speak,  there 
fore,  only  from  past  impressions. 

"Allen's  American  Revolution,"  had  it  been  decently  print 
ed  —  my  part  of  it,  I  mean  —  would  have  been,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  a  well-written  and  trustworthy  contribution  to  our 
history.  Many  errors  I  had  corrected,  and  one  at  least  of 
importance,  relating  to  our  loss  at  the  storming  of  Fort- Wash 
ington,  which  had  been  always  underrated. 

'•Otho"  was  a  tragedy,  written  for  Cooper,  in -the  day  of 
his  strength ;  but  never  played.  It  was  rather  too  melo 
dramatic,  and  required  too  many  changes  of  costume,  he 
thought ;  and  so  I  threw  it  aside,  until  after  my  trip  to  Eng- 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  223 

land,  when  I  rewrote  the  whole,  changed  the  names  of  Ola 
and  Ala.  for  which  I  had  been  justly  laughed  at  by  Mr. 
Walsh,  and  republished  it  iu  the  "  Yankee."  The  first  edition, 
which  appeared  in  Boston,  had  a  preface  which  I  wrote  in  Mr. 
Pierpo;:''s  presence  one  morning,  by  way  of  reply  to  Dr. 
Johnson  s  argument  respecting  the  Unities.  I  have  not  seen 
it  since,  to  mv  recollection  ;  but  feel  sure  that  I  had  the  best 
of  the  argument  ;  and  am  willing  to  abide  by  it  now.  Dr. 
Johnson  trampled  on  the  unities,  arguing,  that  if  a  man  were 
mad  enough  to  believe  in  stage:  representation,  he  was  mad 
enough  to  swallow  any  thing  in  the  shape  of  anachronism. 
I  upheld  the  unities,  and  my  play  required  just  about  as  much 
time  for  representation  on  the  stage,  as  the  incidents  were  sup 
posed  to  occupy  in  life  :  arguing  that  play-goers  are  not  ex 
pected  to  believe  that  what  they  see  is  real,  but  that  they  must 
not  be  obliged  to  see  that  it  is  unreal.  In  short,  although 
hastily  written,  and  published  without  a  word  of  correction, 
while  the  printer  was  waiting  for  a  proof,  it  was,  in  mv  judg 
ment,  both  conclusive  and  unanswerable.  There's  for  you! 

"Logan''  was  published  in  April,  18:22,  by  Cary  &  Lea. 
It  appeared  in  two  large  volumes,  but  was  republished  in 
London  by  the  Whittakers,  in  four.  It  was  a  wild,  passionate, 
extravagant  affair,  with  some  —  and,  I  might  say.  a  large  — 
proportion  of  the  most  eloquent  and  fervid  writing  I  was  ever 
guilty  of,  either  in  prose  or  poetry.  Perhaps  a  brief  extract 
from  a  letter  written  by  the  President  of  our  club  (Dr.  Wat- 
kins),  upon  whom  the  book  had  burst  like  a  meteor,  without 
notice,  while  he  was  at  Washington,  may  help  to  give  the 
reader  some  idea  of  its  effect  on  our  reading  public  at  the 
time.  The  newspapers  were  beside  themselves  ;  and  some  of 
the  reviewers,  in  a  small  way,  went  '"  stepping  through  the 
air." 

"Washington,  Dec.  18,  1822. 

" '  Yes,'  said  I,  as  soon  as  I  had  put  down  the  book.  '  he 
might  as  well  have  placed  his  name  on  the  title-page  ;  for 
every  sentence,  every  line  —  nay,  every  thought,  idea,  phrase, 
expression  —  has  the  living  impress  of  O' Cataract's  mind 
upon  it.  Logan,  a  family  history!  A  family J  Whyr  a 
family  of  such  men  as  Oscar  or  Harold  would  occupy  the 


224  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

world  entire.  Not  another  name  would  live  in  the  vast  uni 
verse  ;  and  angels  and  archangels  would  once  more  descend 
from  their  celestial  habitations  to  battle  with  this  human  fam 
ily,  for  the  mastery  o£  the  earth  and  skies!  '  &c.,  &c.  .  .  .In 
sober  truth,  my  dear  N.,  '  Logan '  is  one  of  the  most  extraor 
dinary  productions  of  the  present  age.  Such  is  my  opinion 
of  it,  in  tlte  general.  In  detail,  I  have  many  faults  to  find 
with  it,  &c.,  &c.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes  :  no  other  man  on  earth  could 
have  written  such  a  book,"  &c.  .  .  . 

Others  took  it  as  they  took  opium,  or  exhilarating  gas  ;  and 
everywhere  it  was  treated  as  what  William  B.  Walter  called 
it,  '•  a  gigantic  phantom." 

After  this.  I  wrote  "  Seventy-Six."  suggested,  I  have  no 
doubt,  by  Cooper's  exceedingly  attractive  "  Spy."  This  ap 
peared  at  Baltimore,  in  two  volumes,  and  was  republished 
at  London  in  three.  The  copyright,  I  see,  is  dated  Feb. 
20,  1823.  It  is  a  spirited  sketch  of  our  Revolutionary  war, 
full  of  incident,  character,  and  truthfulness  :  dramatic,  stir 
ring,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  think  the  best  novel  I  have  written, 
or  story  rather,  for  it  cannot  be  called  a  novel,  any  more  than 
u Logan"  could  be  called  ''a  family  history."  The  title-page 
of  itself  was  quite  enough  to  show  in  what  temper  it  was  writ 
ten.  "  Seventy-Six.  By  the  Author  of  '  Logan.'  Our  coun 
try —  right  or  wrong."  I  had  got  charged  to  the  muzzle  with 
the  doings  of  our  Revolutionary  fathers,  while  writing  my 
portion  of  "  Allen's  History,"  and  wanted  only  the  hint,  or 
touch,  that  Cooper  gave  in  passing,  to  go  off  like  a  Leyden 
jar,  and  empty  myself  at  once  of  all  the  hoarded  enthusiasm 
I  had  been  bottling  up,  for  three  or  four  years. 

Two  or  three  little  incidents,  which  occurred  soon  after  its 
first  appearance,  may  be  worth  mentioning  here.  On  my 
voyage  to  England,  we  had  a  frightful  storm,  which  swept  oui 
decks  and  carried  away  our  lee-bulwarks,  fore  and  aft.  I  was 
lying  in  my  berth,  and  trying  to  overcome  what  there  was  left 
of  a  most  uncomfortable  sea-sickness,  which  had  settled  upon 
me,  before  we  were  out  of  sight  of  land,  by  sipping  lemonade 
and  toying  with  an  apple,  the  last  a  little  u  nigger  "  had  left  me 
of  a  supply  I  had  brought  on  board  for  my  own  special  use, 
when  I  was  somewhat  startled  by  seeing  our  captain  leaning 
over  the  table  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  had  been  down 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  225 

several  times  before  to  look  at  the  barometer :  and,  after  stop 
ping  awhile,  would  u-o  up  on  deek  to  see  how  we  were  getting 
along:  but  now  he  remained  so  long  below,  that  I  had  begun 
to  think  the  danger  over,  until,  as  he  happened  to  look  up,  I 
saw  tears  in  his  eyes.  What!  was  our  brave  captain  fright 
ened?  A  seaman  of  such  experience,  and  so  calm  and  self- 
possessed  :  and  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  singing  out.  "  Hal 
loo,  Graham!  what  the  plague's  to  pay  ?  "  when  he  jumped 
up  and  fiunir  a  book  down  upon  the  table,  with  a  big  oath, 
and  disappeared  up  the  companion-way.  ••  I) — n  the  book!" 
said  he  :  and  feeling  a  decided  inclination  to  see  what  book 
had  been  capable  of  interesting  such  a  man,  at  such  a  time, 
and  why,  under  the  circumstances,  he  had  thought  it  worth 
his  while  to  damn  it.  being  no  reviewer  by  profession,  I 
jumped  out  of  my  berth,  seized  the  book,  with  a  strange  mis 
giving,  and  found  it  to  be  "  Seventy-Six,''  which  he  had  bor 
rowed  without  leave,  as  he  acknowledged  after  the  storm  was 
over,  from  an  open  trunk  in  my  state-room.  So  terrible  was 
that  storm,  by  the  way.  that,  in  passing  up  the  Irish  Channel, 
we  found  a  large  merchant-ship  wrecked,  within  pistol-shot; 
of  whose  whole  crew  only  one  escaped,  and  he  by  being 
pitched  ashore  from  the  bowsprit,  when  she  struck  a  ledge, 
over  which  the  waters  were  surging  when  we  passed,  as  if 
another  deluge  were  under  way. 

In  England,  soon  after  my  arrival  there,  another  amusing 
incident  occurred  in  relation  to  the  same  book.  I  was  taken 
out  to  the  horticultural  show  at  Kensington,  where,  after  the 
meeting  was  over.  I  was  invited  by  Mr.  Griffith,  editor  of  the 
Old  Gentleman's  '•  Old  Monthly,"  Sylvester  Urban  himself,  or 
the  son  of  Sylvester  Urban,  to  a  very  handsome  dinner,  where 
I  met  with  a  number  of  distinguished  nobodies. 

'•There,"  said  he.  handing  me  a  large  arm-chair,  "that's 
your  place.  That 's  where  Byron  sat,  whenever  IK;  came  to 
see  me  ;  and  there,  in  other  days.  Doctor  Franklin  used  to 
sit  and  talk  with  my  father." 

I  cannot  say  that  I  was  overwhelmed,  or  greatly  abashed, 
though  somewhat  puzzled;  but.  on  further  reflection,  took  it 
for  granted  that  my  friend  Norgate,  the  friend  also  of  our 
famous  John  Dunn  Hunter,  the  White  Indian,  whose  "  Nar 
rative  "  was  in  full  feather  just  then,  and  who  had  introduced 


226  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

me  to  Mr.  Griffith,  had  probably  hinted  that  I  was  one  of  the 
"Blackwood"  writers,  and  given  to  literary  enterprise,  al 
though  he  knew  nothing  of  what  I  had  done,  before  I  crossed 
the  sea,  and  my  novels  had  all  appeared  anonymously,  both 
abroad  and  at  home. 

After  the  substantiate  were  disposed  of,  the  company  fell 
into  groups,  and  began  talking  politics  on  rather  a  large  scale, 
whereby  I  soon  discovered  that  my  host  was  a  great  friend  of 
America,  that  he  was  familiar  with  our  history,  and  with  the 
incidents  of  our  Revolutionary  war,  and  gloried  in  the  doings 
of  Mr.  Coke,  of  Norfolk,  who  gave  George  Washington's 
health  one  day  at  his  own  table,  at  Plolkam,  when  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  afterward  George  the  Fourth,  was  present,  and, 
year  after  year,  while  a  member  of  parliament,  moved  the 
acknowledgment  of  our  independence. 

From  politics  they  went  to  literature  ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  a  long  and  free  discussion  that  followed,  Mr.  Griffith  turned 
to  me,  and  asked  if  the  author  of  a  book  he  had  lately  met 
with  was  known.  It  had  the  strangest  title  to  be  sure ;  and 
unless  one  were  well  acquainted  with  our  history,  he  would 
not  be  likely  to  understand  the  drift  of  ''  Our  Country  — 
right  or  wrong,"  which  appeared  as  a  motto  upon  the  title- 
page.  Before  I  could  answer,  he  went  on  to  praise  it  so  ex 
travagantly,  that  I  stopped  him  in  mid-volley,  lest  he  might 
go  too  far,  and  acknowledged  the  authorship,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life.  He  colored  to  the  eyes  ;  but,  after  a  short  pause, 
added,  "  Well,  I  don't  care  who  wrote  the  book ;  what  I  had 
to  say,  I  will  say,  nevertheless."  And  then  he  went  on,  with 
all  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  glancing  occasionally  at  me,  and 
ran  a  very  clever  parallel  between  "  Seventy-Six  "  and  what 
he  called  the  best  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  romances,  then  in  the 
very  zenitli  of  their  fame ;  and  wound  up  with  declaring,  to 
my  unspeakable  surprise,  and  I  might  say  amusement,  that 
he  would  rather  have  written  my  book,  than  any  tiling  Scott 
had  ever  produced.  Of  course.  I  made  all  proper  allowances  ; 
Mr.  Griffith  being  a  radical,  or  at  least  a  whig,  and  Sir  Wal 
ter  a  tory  to  the  backbone,  dyed  in  the  wool,  like  some  of  our 
leading  abolitionists. 

At  this  dinner  occurred  an  amusing  incident,  well  worth 
relating,  perhaps.  One  of  the  company  was  telling  the  story 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  227 

of  a  ford,  where  a  guide-post  was  set  np  in  the  middle,  with 
this  inscription,  "  When  this  post  is  under  water,  it  is  danger 
ous  passing.  "If  you  can't  read,  inquire  at  the  blacksmith's 
shop."  Mr.  Griffiths  pooh-poohed  at  the  story,  as  too  absurd 
for  a  joke.  I  told  him  it  might  be  found  in  Joe  Miller;  and 
then  added  that,  within  fifty  rods  of  his  own  house.  I  had  seen  a 
parallel  that  very  day.  The  company  stared  ;  and  I  reminded 
him  of  a  pond  near  by.  where.  I  was  told,  a  hoy  had  been 
drowned,  while  riding  a  horse  to  water.  In  the  deepest  place, 
I  suppose,  there  stood  a  post,  with  a  signboard  lettered.  ••  Keep 
to  the  right."  "Well,  and  what  then?"  said  Mr.  (rrifh'th. 
"  Please  tell  me  which  was  the  ri(//tf  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Should 
we  take  our  own  right,  or  the  right  of  the  post  ?  ''  A  shout 
followed,  and  he  acknowledged  that,  although  that  guide- 
board  had  been  standing  there  a  dozen  years,  at  least,  lie  had 
never  thought  of  the  absurdity  before. 

After  this,  I  became  acquainted  with  a  Miss  Elizabeth  W., 
said  to  be  a  natural  daughter  of  George  the  Fourth,  a  strong- 
minded,  highly  accomplished  woman,  who  certainly  bore  a 
great  resemblance  to  her  reputed  father.  She  had  been  the 
intimate  friend  of  Richard  Cumberland,  knew  Washington 
Irving  well,  when  he  lodged  in  Warwick-Street,  Pall-Mall, 
and  occupied  the  very  rooms  which  1  had  now  taken.  She 
lived  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Ilerries.  who  occupied  a  high  posi 
tion  at  the  time,  and  had  made  himself  conspicuous,  by  refusing 
some  of  the  crown-jewels  to  his  royal  muster,  who  wanted 
them  for  the  Marchioness  of  Conyngham  ;  and  bv  obliging 
him  to  restore  others  which  he  had  already  given  her. 

Mr.  Ilerries  had  two  sisters,  one  of  whom  was  literally 
wasting  away  like  a  shadow,  under  the  effect  of  some  disap 
pointment,  I  believe.  Once  I  saw  her,  and  once  only  ;  and  I 
remember  thinking  her  a  lovely  creature,  with  such  eyes,  and 
such  an  expression,  as  we  sometimes  dream  of.  but  are  not 
often  allowed  to  see  in  this  world.  One  day,  Miss  W.,  who 
had  found  out  that  I  was  the  author  of  "  Seventy-Six,"  in 
quired  of  me  if  I  had  ever  written  any  thing  else.  I  owned 
up  so  far  as  to  mention  "  Logan,"  and,  I  believe,  kt  Randolph," 
and  "  Will  Adams,  or  Errata."  Would  I  lend  them  to  her, 
for  Julia?  For.  since  she  had  first  met  with  "Seventy-Six," 
she  had  gone  through  with  it  again  and  again  ;  it  was  always 


228  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

on  the  table  before  her,  and  never  out  of  her  hands,  when  she 
was  alone.  I  yielded,  of  course  —  how  could  I  do  otherwise  ? 
—  and  the  next  tiling  I  heard  of  her  —  after  she  had  worried 
through  "  Logan,"  ''Randolph,'7  and  "Errata,"  which  Miss  W. 
said  she  kept  always  within  reach,  till  they  had  become  such 
a  necessity  for  her,  that  she  had  lost  her  relish  for  all  other 
books,  even  the  best  —  was  that  she  died  with  "  Seventy- 
Six  "  in  her  hand ;  for  which,  though  it  was  no  fault  of  mine, 
I  have  never  forgiven  myself.  Poor  girl !  the  high  seasoning 
and  wild  flavor  of  these  fierce  and  extravagant  stories  had 
rendered  all  other  literary  aliment  unpalatable.  Had  I  known 
her  better,  I  would  have  written  a  story  expressly  for  her, 
which  might  have  been  worthier  of  being  so  read ;  a  story 
which  I  might  not  have  been  sorry  to  hear  that  she  had  clung 
to  for  consolation,  or  at  least  for  amusement,  in  her  last  hours. 
Not  that  there  was  any  thing  in  "  Seventy-Six,"  or  the  others, 
so  far  as  I  can  now  recollect,  which, .dying,  I  should  wish  to 
blot ;  but  they  were  not  the  books  for  a  dying  woman. 

P.S.  —  I  have  this  moment  lighted  on  the  following  from 
Miss  W. :  "April,  1825.  I  send  you  'Errata.'  Dear  Julia 
says,  '  Oh !  tell  Mr.  Neal  he  must  write.  I  cannot  listen  to 
any  other  author;  he  is  the  only  one  that  can  arrest  my  at 
tention,  and  I  must  be  excited  now.'  .  .  .  Isabella  says  the 
same  thing,  and  I  am  gratified  beyond  measure  that  you  are 
done  justice  to.  here." 

Nov.  1,  1867.  —  I  have  just  been  stopped  in  the  street  by 
an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine,  who  said  he  had  something  in  his 
pocket-book  which  had  been  sent  him  awhile  ago  from  a  son 
at  Philadelphia,  and  which  he  had  long  been  trying  to  show 
me,  if  I  would  promise  not  to  be  offended.  I  gave  the  prom 
ise,  and  lie  handed  me  the  following  paragraph,  cut  from  a 
paper  printed  in  1827,  forty  years  ago:  — 
-  "  James  Adams,  Jr.,  of  Portland,  proposes  to  publish  "  The 
Yankee,"  a  weekly  paper,  to  be  edited  by  John  Neal,  author 
of  "Keep  Cool,"  "Errata,"  &c.  ,To  which  the  editor  adds, — 

"  This  is  the  first  we  have  heard  of  that  eccentric,  wild  man, 
since  he  left  England.  Neal  is  a  strange  and  incomprehen 
sible,  but  gifted  being.  We  know  him,  and  love  him,  too,  in 
defiance  of  all  his  faults.  May  he  prosper  in  his  native 
town." 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  229 

But  who  was  the  editor  who  both  kuew  and  loved  me,  in 
spite  of  all  my  faults?  I  have  no  idea  :  nor  had  Mr.  Weeks, 
who  handed  me  the  paragraph  :  hut  I  am  glad  to  have  it  fall 
in  my  way.  as  it  shows  two  things  I  would  not  willingly  for 
get  :  how  I  was  generally  regarded  hy  the  newspapers,  even 
on  my  return  from  abroad,  when  I  had  hecome,  as  most  of 
them  acknowledged  after  a  while,  comparatively  rational  ami 
harmless ;  and  how  I  was  looked  upon,  here  and  there,  by 
some  of  the  literary  brotherhood,  as  worth  loving,  neverthe 
less.  At  one  time,  I  verily  believe  that  I  was  ranked  with 
McDonald  Clark  —  poor  fellow  !  —  by  not  a  few  of  mv  amiable 
countrymen.  But  —  God  be  praised  !  —  I  have  outlasted  their 
estimation,  and  have  long  been  supposed  to  have  a  reasonable 
share  of  common-sense.  Enough  on  that  head  for  the  pres 
ent,  however.  When  I  get  back  from  England,  I  shall  have 
something  more  to  say  about  my  newspaper-brethren  here, 
and  the  literati,  as  they  were  called,  of  these  United-States. 
To  return,  therefore. 

Next  came  "  Randolph."  "Seventy-Six"  was  a  romance; 
"Logan."  I  hardly  know  what  —  a  rhapsody  I  suppose  it 
would  be1  safe  to  call  it,  although  it  contained  verv  serious 
arguments  against  lotteries  and  capital  punishments,  especially 
recommending  that  executions  should  be  private,  and.  if  pos 
sible,  at  midnight,  accompanied  bv  the  tolling  of  a  heavy  bell, 
and  the  discharge  of  artillery.  I  have  a  notion,  too,  that  I 
made  war  in  that  book  upon  slavery,  and  upon  imprison 
ment  for  debt,  though  I  am  not  sure,  and  have  no  time  to  look 
just  now.  But  "  Randolph  "  was  to  be  a  story  in  the  form  of 
letters,  giving  an  account  of  our  celebrities,  orators,  writers, 
painters,  &c~  &c.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  both  honest  and  able  ; 
and  the  criticisms  I  should  be  willing  to  abide  by  now:  but, 
somehow  or  other,  it  was  received  like  a  lighted-thunderbolt, 
dropped  into  a  powder-magazine. 

It  was  published  in  Philadelphia,  under  the  superintendence 
of  Mr.  Simpson,  editor  of  the  "  Independent,"  and  brother-in- 
law  of  Dr.  Watkins.  No  sooner  did  it  appear  in  Baltimore, 
than  the  whole  city  flamed  outright  with  indignation  —  so,  at 
least,  I  was  assured  ;  and  the  great  unreasoning  multitude 
were  ready  to  roast  the  supposed  author  alive,  or  run  him  up, 
as  they  did  poor  David  Hoffman,  almost,  at  a  neighboring 


230  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

tree.  And  why  ?  Simply  because  the  great  William  Pink- 
ney  had  just  been  called  away,  dying  suddenly,  with  harness 
on,  while  heaving  at  the  pillars  of  something  huge  and  mon 
strous  in  our  system  of  lav,  which  only  he  might  venture  to 
grapple  with,  and  our  whole  country  was  overshadowed  for  a 
time  with  the  darkness  that  followed. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that,  in  "  Randolph,"  I  had  given  a 
sketch  of  Mr.  Pinkney,  in  which,  after  acknowledging  his 
greatness,  and  saying  that  the  giant  had  gone  to  his  slum 
bers,  like  a  giant,  I  had  superadded  a  fling  or  two,  which  he 
well  deserved,  though  it  was  rather  unbecoming  in  me,  at 
some  of  his  doings  and  characteristics,  professional  and  social. 
The  sketch  had  been  written  just  as  it  appeared  in  u  Ran 
dolph,"  while  Mr.  Pinkney  was  in  robust  health,  and  when 
we  often  met,  face  to  face,  at  the  Baltimore-bar.  My  book 
was  going  through  the  press  at  Philadelphia,  and  the  offensive 
part  had  been  worked  off  when  he  died,  or  I  should  have 
struck  out  the  objectionable  passages,  or  at  least  have  qual 
ified  them,  not  being  of  those  who  war  with  the  dead,  what 
ever  I  may  do  with  the  living. 

In  the  midst  of  the  commotion  that,  followed,  his  son  Edward 
C.,  a  midshipman  in  the  United-States  navy,  a  poet  of  unques 
tionable  genius,  who  had  come  home,  after  a  l"iig  absence, 
only  to  see  the  last  of  his  renowned  father,  happened  to  be  in 
the  bookstore  of  a  Mr.  Cole,  with  whom  I  had  had  a  misun 
derstanding  not  long  before ;  and  he,  being  both  meddlesome 
and  spiteful,  handed  my  book  to  the  young  man,  with  the  leaf 
turned  down  where  I  had  sketched  his  father. 

Having  read  this  with  a  temper  wholly  unprepared,  and 
overlooking  all  I  had  said  in  favor  of  that  father,  and  fasten 
ing  on  two  or  three  phrases,  which,  however  truthful,  had  no 
business  there,  being  both  indiscreet  and  offensive,  he  lost  no 
time  in  hurrying  off  a  most  imperious  note  for  me,  in  which 
he,  "as  the  son  of  William  Pinkney,"  required  me  '•  to  dis 
avow,  unequivocally,  in  writing,  any  agency  in  the  publication 
of  '  Randolph.'"  This  was  dated' Oct.  10,  1823. 

Not  bein<r  disposed  to  quibble,  —  instead  of  disavowing  any 
agency  in  the  publication  of  the  book,  which  I  might  have 
done  with  perfect  truth,  for  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  pub 
lication,  I  answered  the  insolent  note  as  if  he  had  written 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  231 

authorship  instead  of  publication  ;  saying1,  '- 1  do  not  admit 
the  right  of  any  man.  whether  lie  be  the  son  of  Mr.  Pinkney 
or  not,  to  call  upon  me  for  an  answer,  either  one  way  or  the 
other,  in  the  matter  in  question  ;  I  shall  neither  own  nor  deny 
the  authorship  of  '  Randolph '  for  the  present,  whatever  I 
may  be  disposed  to  do  hereafter." 

••  However."  I  added,  that  we  might  have  a  clear  field,  and 
that  if  I  accepted  the  challenge  it  should  be  for  a  reason  that 
would  not  oblige  me  to  accept  h;df  a  hundred  more,  '•  How 
ever.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  have  read  the  work  in 
question,  and  that  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Pinkney  is  altogether 
true*  i)t  its  (jenera1  features,  according  to  my  own  observation  : 
and  that,  if  it  be  not  so.  there  are  enough  to  contradict  the 
author,  and  confront  him,  whoever  he  may  be." 

This,  too,  was  dated  October  10.  and  written  immediately, 
in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Dulaney,  who.  seeing  me  about  to  seal 
it,  asked  permission  to  read  it.  I  assented.  He  read  it,  de 
clared  it  unsatisfactory,  and  forthwith  handed  me  the  follow 
ing  :  — 

"  As  you  refuse  to  comply  with  my  former  demand,  be 
pleased  to  make  arrangements  with  my  friend  for  the  alter 
native  usual  in  such  cases.  It  were  well  they  should  be 
speedy." 

Here  was  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  !  Because,  just  here,  if 
anywhere,  was  to  be  found  a  decent  pretence,  if  not  a  justifi 
able  cause  of  challenge  ;  and  for  a  challenge,  too,  not,  on  account 
of  the  publication,  nor  even  for  the  authorship,  but  for  adopt 
ing  and  re-asserting  the  offensive  passages,  and  vouching  for 
their  truth.  But  this  advantage  was  overlooked  by  Mr. 
Dulaney,  his  friend,  who.  after  reading  my  answer,  and  pro 
nouncing  it  unsatisfactory,  took  it  upon  himself  to  hand  me  a 
peremptory  challenge,  already  written,  with  the  signature  of 
his  principal,  of  the  same  date,  showing  how  little,  or,  I  should 
rather  say,  how  much,  had  been  left  to  the  discretion  of  that 
friend. 

Having  asked  the  age  of  my  youthful  adversary,  whom  I 
had  never  seen,  and  of  whom  1  knew  nothing  beyond  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  midshipman  in  the  United-States  navy,  I  prom 
ised  Mr.  Dulaney  an  immediate  answer,  adding  that,  if  I 
should  refuse  the  cartel,  my  friend  Charles  F.  Mayer,  who 


2o2  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

knew  young  Pinkney  well,  and  had  studied  law  with  his  father, 
would  be  the  bearer ;  and  that,  if  accepted,  I  should  send  it 
by  another,  having  in  my  mind  M.  Trenck.  the  fencing-mas 
ter,  being  myself  a  capital  swordsman,  and  thinking,  perhaps, 
a  prick  in  the  forearm,  or  a  touch  in  the  breast,  would  be  suf 
ficient  ;  but  then,  if  he  should  rush  blindly  upon  me,  and  I 
should  have  to  run  him  through,  in  self-defence,  what  then  ? 
My  mind  was  now  made  up.  And  I  wrote  as  follows :  — 

"  SIR, —  Your  last  note  would  not  seem  to  require  much 
consideration  ;  but  I  have  given  it  a  good  deal ;  and  my  reply 
is,  that  I  cannot  accept  a  challenge,  under  the  circumstances 
of  this  case,  whatever  I  might  do,  where  I  held  myself  amen 
able  to  the  laws  of  honor  or  society,  for  any  outrage  upon 
either. 

"Bait,  lOthOct.,  1823." 

This  note  my  friend  Mayer  delivered  the  next  day,  not 
having  been  able  to  find  my  adversary  on  the  evening  it  was 
written,  although  he  called  for  the  purpose. 

And  then  came  the  following,  dated  Oct.  llth:  — 

"  SIR,  —  I  have  received  your  singular  answer  to  my  note. 
Reconsider  its  subject,  and  write  more  to  my  satisfaction  before 
the  evening,  or,  I  will  post  you  in  the  worst  terms  that  contempt 
can  devise.  I  am,  &c., 

"EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY." 

Chivalric  and  conciliatory,  to  be  sure  !  And  what  a  tre 
mendous  threat  for  a  man  who  had  been  assured,  that,  if  he 
refused  the  cartel,  he  would  be  assaulted  in  the  street.  Nev 
ertheless,  I  took  no  notice  of  the  threat,  offered  no  word  of 
explanation,  though  I  might  have  done  so,  and  with  effect,  I 
dare  say,  if  I  had  been  approached  in  a  magnanimous  spirit : 
for  no  man  thought,  or  spoke,  or  wrote  more  highly  of  the 
father,  as  a  lawyer,  and  I  had  not  even  touched  upon  his  moral, 
or  private  character. 

On  the  14th  of  October,  after  waiting  three  whole  days  for 
the  answer,  which  he  had  insisted  upon  having  sent  "  before 


HOT-WATER.  233 

the  evening"  of  the  llth,  he  distributed  sundry  little  slips  of 
dirty  paper,  measuring  five  inches  long,  by  two  and  a  half 
inches  wide,  the  following  tremendous  Anathema  maranatha: 

"  The  undersigned,  having  entered  into  some  correspondence 
with  the  reputed  author  of  •  Randolph,'  who  is.  or  is  not.  suf 
ficiently  described  as  .John  Xeal.  a  gentleman,  bv  indulgent, 
courtesy,  informs  honorable  men  that  lie  has  found  him  un 
possessed  of  courage  to  make  satisfaction  for  the  insolence  of 
his  folly. 

k-  Saying  thus  much,  the  undersigned  commits  the  craven  to 
his  infamy.  EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY. 

"Baltimore,  Oct.  14,  1823." 

And  yet  here  I  am,  at  the  end  of  five-and-forty  years,  alive 
and  hearty.  And  where  is  he?  Gone  to  his  untimely  grave, 
poor  fellow,  without  ever  having  met,  or  encountered  me,  for 
a  single  moment. 

I  had  been  vociferously  threatened.  I  had  even  been  assured 
that  1  should  be  shot  down  in  the  street.  '•  like  a  doi:."  But 
I  had  accepted  the  alternative,  not  caring  that!  for  being 
posted  "  in  the  worst  terms  contempt  could  devise  ;  "  and  pre 
pared  for  a  personal  attack,  not  by  arming,  but  by  throwing 
aside  the  only  weapon  I  had  ever  carried  in  ail  my  life,  and 
then,  but  for  a  few  months,  at  most  —  a  rattan  with  a  stiletto 
in  the  handle,  the  parting  gift  of  a  friend ;  and  by  going 
about  alunc.  every  day  and  every  evening,  that  my  young 
Hotspur  might  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  I  had  been  ac 
customed  to  walk,  every  pleasant  afternoon,  with  my  friend 
Mayer,  the  bearer  of  my  reply  to  Mr.  Finkney,  upon  tho 
express  understanding  that,  inasmuch  as  he  was  a  married 
man.  or  at  least  a  widower,  with  a  young  family  on  his  hands, 
if  the  quarrel  became  serious,  I  should  be  at  liberty  to  choose 
another  messenger. 

The  next  day.  when  I  entered  the  crowded  court-room,  I 
found  all  the  bar  in  busy  consultation,  huddled  together  in 
groups  of  three  or  four,  and  whispering  together  ;  at  last,  I 
caught  one  of  the  members  reading  a  slip  of  paper,  which 
somebody  had  just  handed  him.  Could  it  be  the  dreadful 
posting  I  had  been  threatened  with  ?  I  had  come  by  the 


234  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

post-office  and  other  public  places,  on  my  way  to  the  court 
house,  but  had  seen  nothing,  heard  nothing,  to  startle  or 
disturb  me. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  look  at  that?"  said  I  to  a  brother 
who  was  reading  it  on  the  sly,  without  observing  that  I  was 
near  him.  He  started,  colored,  and,  after  a  moment  or  two 
of  hesitation,  handed  me  the  paper,  with  what  he  meant  for  a 
smile.  It  was  indeed  the  portentous  missive,  about  five  inches 
by  two-and-a-half.  I  am  able  to  give  the  exact  size,  for  I 
published  a  fac-simile,  with  the  very  language  of  my  antago 
nist,  and  all  our  correspondence,  in  "  Errata,"  which  was  then 
going  through  the  press,  at  full  speed. 

"  Allow  me  to  keep  this  ?  "  I  said,  and  then,  without  wait 
ing  for  a  reply,  hurried  off  to  have  it  inserted  in  my  book  ; 
and,  from  that  moment,  went  by  myself,  alone  and  unarmed, 
into  every  public  place  of  the  city ;  to  the  theatre,  the  con 
cert-room,  the  soda-water  establishments,  then  just  introduced, 
and  always  in  full  blast,  night  and  day ;  and  through  all  the 
neighboring  highways,  without  being  assailed  ;  and  one  day, 
about  a  week  after  I  had  met  two  or  three  different  members 
of  the  family,  who  were  always  the  first  to  bow,  as  I  was 
coming  back  to  my  office  from  a  long  walk,  through  Holiday- 
Street,  I  saw  just  ahead  of  me  two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom 
I  knew  to  be  Dulaney,  and  the  other  I  took  it  for  granted  was 
young  Pinkney,  whom,  as  I  have  said  before,  I  had  never 
met  with.  On  approaching.  I  buttoned  up  my  coat,  and  qui 
etly  drew  off  my  gloves,  preparing  for  the  worst,  and,  on  my 
conscience,  hoping  for  the  worst ;  for  I  was  tired  of  waiting 
for  the  catastrophe.  As  we  drew  nearer,  Dulaney  touched  his 
hat  —  and  I  mine ;  and  there  the  matter  ended.  Who  the 
stranger  was,  I  never  knew,  nor  asked ;  but  I  cannot  believe 
it  was  Pinkney,  who,  by  the  way,  died  not  long  after,  leaving 
many  a  sorrowful  admirer  of  his  character  and  genius. 

"Why  the  devil  did  not  N accept  the  challenge  of 

Pinkney  ?  "  said  some  one  who  knew  me,  and  who  knew  of 
what  I  was  capable,  to  William  Gwinn,  editor  of  the  "  Fed 
eral  Gazette,"  who  also  knew  me.  ';  Why  ?  "  said  Gwinn  ; 
"because  no  other  man  living  would  have  refused  it!" 
And  Gwinn  was  more  than  half  right,  I  think.  If  nobody 
else  would  have  accepted  it,  I  might :  I  do  not  say  that  I 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  235 

should ;  for  I  had  written  and  published  a  novel  against 
duelling  —  "  Keep  Cool''  —  and  a  prodigious  article  in  the 
"  Portico. '"  on  the  same  side.  But  I  might  have  done  so, 
nevertheless  :  for.  though  uncovetous  of  notoriety,  I  had  a 
profound  contempt  for  public  opinion  :  holding  that  the  multi 
tude,  were  never  right,  where  it  wu-  possible  to  be  wrong. 

Soon  after  this,  to  show  what  the  e fleet  was  upon  a  duel 
ling-community,  where,  to  refuse  a  challenge,  and  be  posted 
for  cowardice,  no  mortal  man  was  thought  capable  of  outliv 
ing,  let  me  say  that  my  standing  at  the  bar.  and  in  society,  at 
Baltimore  and  Washington,  was.  if  any  thing,  rather  im 
proved  by  the  position  I  had  taken  ;  for  nobody  thought  I 
had  refused  from  fear  of  the  consequences.  But  they  were 
mistaken  ;  for  afraid  I  was,  both  of  myself,  and  of  my  gallant 
youn£  adversary,  though  my  principles  had  more  to  do  with 
the  refusal,  than  my  fears,  fifty  times  over. 

One  other  incident,  and  I  have  done.  A  great  military  ball 
was  given  at  Washington,  within  a  month  or  so.  after  I  had 
been  posted.  Among  the  managers  was  Lieutenant  Hall,  of 
the  United-States  marines,  a  fine  frllow,  and  a  particular 
friend  of  Pinkney.  From  him,  I  received  a  special  invita 
tion  ;  and  at  Washington  went  to  meet  a  large  number  of  his 
friends  and  officers,  at  his  quarters.  Nothing  was  said  of  the 
challenges,  or  the  posting,  and  I  was  everywhere  treated  with 
distinguished  courtesy,  and  with  the  greatest  possible  respect; 
showing  that  men  have  little  to  fear,  even  among  fire-eaters, 
if  they  are  believed  to  act  from  principle. 

After  this,  my  friend  Theophilus  Parsons  —  my  friend,  at 
that  time,  of  two  or  three  years'  standing,  who  had  introduced 
him-elf  to  me —  I  might,  say  obtruded  himself  upon  me  —  at 
Baltimore,  with  especial  emphasis,  upon  the  ground  that  he 
had  written,  or  madt>.  as  he  termed  it.  an  article  for  the  '•  North- 
American  Review,"  which  had  actually  been  published  — 
thought  proper  to  say.  and  in  print  —  when  he  saw  the  tide  was 
turning  against  me,  because  he  had  been  a  member  of  Mr. 
Pinkney's  family,  and,  I  believe,  had  accompanied  him  to 
Russia.  I  know  not  in  what  capacity  —  that  it  was  understood 
I  had  been  badly  beaten  at  Baltimore  for  what  I  had  said  of 
Pinkney  ;  and  that  was  the  last  I  ever  heard  of  the  unpleas 
ant  affair. 


236  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

Nov.  6.  —  On  further  reflection,  I  think  it  possible  that 
I  may  have  made  a  mistake  in  the  last  paragraph,  where  I 
speak  of  Mr.  Parsons  having  been  with  Mr.  Pinkney  at  St. 
Petersburg;  but,  however  that  may  be,  and  whatever  may 
have  been  his  object,  I  am  sure  that  he  knew  me  too  well  to 
believe  the  foolish  story,  and  that  he  gave  it  currency,  in  the 
way  mentioned,  to  propitiate  the  family.  It  was  done,  how- 
ever,  not  openly  and  manfully,  but  anonymously,  as  one 
mi<iht  have  expected  from  such  a  sly,  sedate,  crafty,  and 
pleasant-tempered  gentleman.  If  there  ever  was  any  such 
report,  I  never  heard  of  it,  nor  had  any  of  my  other  friends, 
of  whom  I  inquired,  either  in  Boston  or  in  Baltimore.  In 
fact,  it  so  happens,  that,  up  to  this  hour,  I  have  never  been 
assailed  by  any  human  being,  with  even  a  threat  of  personal 
violence,  though  often  desperately  outraged  in  the  papers  of 
the  day.  The  first  blow  has  always  been  given  by  me,  though 
not  always  the  first  word,  ever  since  the  school-days  I  have 
already  given  some  account  of,  when  a  single  blow,  given  with 
out  provocation,  emancipated  me  for  ever  from  the  tyranny 
of  my  school-fellows  — just  as  knocking  out  a  tooth  for  a  serf, 
at  one  time,  was  equivalent  to  setting  him  free  for  ever. 

P.S.  —  Of  this  young  fire-eater,  1  find  in  the  *•  Yankee"  for 
March  5,  1828.  a  further  account,  sorrowful  enough,  when 
we  know  that  he  was  called  away  within  a  few  weeks  after  the 
affair.  "  No  sooner  had  he  got  clear  of  the  navy,  than  he 
fought  a  duel  or  two"  —  acted  as  the  friend  of  young  Tyson, 
a  quarter-lawyer  of  Baltimore,  in  another;  and  then,  being 
himself  an  editor,  walked  into  the  kennel  of  Mr.  Stephen 
Simpson,  the  real  publisher  of  Randolph,  and  editor  of  a 
Philadelphia  paper,  and  clapping  a  pistol  to  his  head,  insisted 
on  a  hostile  meeting,  or  a  promise,  which  promise  poor  Simp 
son  gave,  and  then,  it  having  been  made  under  duress,  broke, 
without  shame  or  compunction  —  like  a  sensible  fellow.  The 
next  thing  that  was  heard  of  poor  Pinkney,  he  himself  had 
been  called  out,  by  the  Great  Adversary  —  Death. 

Let  me  add  here,  by  way  of  a  postscript,  that  I  came  near 
having  another  offair  on  my  hands  after  the  publication 
of  "  Keep  Cool."  I  was  at  Li tch field,  Conn.,  on  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Pierpont's  family.  One  day,  it  was  determined  to  have 
some  kind  of  a  jollification  at  Mrs.  Lord's,  mother  of  Mrs. 


SOUTHERN    HOTsPURS.  237 

Pierpont.  and  invitations  were  sent  hither  and  thither,  all  over 
the  land,  for  the  law-students,  who  had  been  undergoing  the 
lectures  of  Judge  Reeves  and  Judge  Gould.  Some  of  these, 
I  wrote  in  a  frolic1:  and  having  been  furnisln-d  with  the  name 
of  a  Mr.  McCready,  of  South  Carolina.  I  believe.  I  took  the 
liberty  of  punning  a  little  on  his  name,  as  if  it  were  spelled 
Mr Readv.  or  make  ready.  Xo  answer  came.  But  a  few 
days  later,  when  I  reached  New-Haven,  on  my  way  to  Balti 
more.  I  received  a  message  by  the  hand  of  a  negro,  showing 
the  writer  to  be  exceedingly  irritable  and  impertinent.  Instead 
of  taking  my  pleasantry  in  good  part,  he  fell  to  denouncing 
my  book.  and.  by  implication,  soliciting  an  interview.  •'  Lead 
me  to  him.  Sambo,''  said  I.  And  forthwith  hv'  started  of!',  and 
I  followed,  carrying  no  weapon  but  a  slender  rattan.  On 
reaching  the  house  where  my  antagonist  lodged,  I  was  shown 
up  into  a  room,  which,  it  was  evident  enough  from  the  tobacco- 
smoke,  and  fag-ends  of  cigars,  and  half-emptied  wine-glasses, 
had  just  been  left  by  something  of  a  party.  There  I  was  left 
alone,  for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  At  last,  a  gentle 
manly  young  fellow  entered,  with  a  very  anxious  countenance; 
and  after  a  tew  question-*  were  answered,  and  1  had  laid  my 
little  rattan  upon  the  table  within  reach,  my  antagonist  ap 
peared.  We  soon  came  to  a  clear  understanding.  There  I 
was,  and  fully  prepared  for  a  row.  if  not  for  a  duel,  with 
knives,  and  with  knives  to  the  hilt.  But  the  young  man  was 
reasonable  ;  and  when  he  and  his  friends  saw  that  my  note 
was  in  fact  a  friendly  invitation,  written  at  the  request  of  two 
young  gentlewomen,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted,  he 
felt  that  he  had  gone  a  little  too  fast,  and  too  far;  and  we 
parted  on  the  best  of  terms. 

Let  me  add  further,  if  you  please,  that  I  have  prevented 
two  or  three  duels  in  the  course  of  my  life,  under  very 
discouraging  circumstances.  One  of  these  may  be  worth  narrat 
ing  here.  Soon  after  my  arrival  in  London,  a  Captain  Bur- 
naby  of  the  British  army,  whom  I  had  occasionally  met.  I 
believe  at  Chester  Harding's  rooms,  called  on  me  to  be  the 
bearer  of  a  message,  any  thing  but  conciliatory,  to  a  gentle 
man  who  had  been  a  liitle  too  busy  with  the  captain's  reputa 
tion,  where  a  fine  girl,  and  a  marriage,  were  both  at  stake. 
Haying  heard  the  story,  and  seen  the  proofs,  and  having  asked 


238  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

why  he  had  not  applied  to  some  other  officer,  instead  of  troub 
ling  a  quiet  civilian  with  such  business,  to  which  he  answered 
that  he  knew  enough  of  me,  from  others,  to  justify  the  prefer 
ence  he  had  shown  —  which,  of  course,  I  took  for  a  compli 
ment,  considering  I  had  just  been  posted  for  a  coward  at  home 
—  I  told  him  I  would  take  charge  of  the  affair  upon  this  one 
condition  ;  viz.,  that  he  should  leave  me  to  make  all  the  ar 
rangements,  and  accept  my  decision,  without  complaint,  or 
remonstrance,  whatever  it  might  be.  To  this  he  agreed,  and 
I  lost  no  time  in  seeing  the  party,  his  mother  receiving  me, 
as  if  she  had  a  premonition  of  the  terrible  truth.  Judge  of 
my  feelings  !  To  have  to  do  with  a  woman,  and  a  mother, 
on  such  an  errand,  were  enough  to  try  the  temper  and  patience 
of  any  man.  But,  although  exceedingly  anxious  and  full  of 
dark  fort-boding,  she  was  discreet  enough  to  ask  no  questions ; 
and,  of  course,  I  only  desired  to  see  her  son  by  himself,  on  the 
part  of  Captain  Burnaby,  handing  her  my  card. 

Our  interview  was  brief,  but  conclusive.  I  told  him  of  the 
proofs  I  had  seen,  and  of  \vhatmy  principal  had  been  told.  He 
was  thunderstruck,  and  I  peremptory  ;  but,  after  a  brief  inter 
view,  he  consented  to  sign,  and  did  sign  on  the  spot,  a  paper 
which  I  drew  up,  acknowledging  all  that  I  deemed  essential 
for  the  vindication  of  my  principal's  character.  And  I  re 
turned  to  my  chambers  greatly  relieved  ;  for,  though  I  had 
resolved  from  the  first,  to  prevent  the  duel,  if  I  could,  in  any 
honorable  way,  and  not  to  humble  the  young  man,  if  it  could 
be  avoided,  I  did  not  feel  quite  sure  of  myself,  until  the  affair 
was  finished.  But  I  was  abundantly  rewarded  ;  for,  in  pass 
ing  out,  I  saw  the  mother  waiting  and  watching  in  the  hall. 
One  look  was  enough  ;  and  though  neither  spoke,  I  knew 
that  she  must  have  slept  soundly  that  night;  for  the  deep 
thankfulness  of  a  mother's  heart  broke  forth  over  her  pale 
countenance,  like  a  flash  of  sunshine. 

After  "  Randolph,"  came  "  Errata,"  a  story  in  two  volumes, 
published  Nov.  18,  1823,  and  purporting  to  be  the  confessions 
of  a  coward,  wherein  I  gave  the  whole  of  the  foregoing  cor 
respondence  at  length. 

While  this  book  was  going  through  the  press,  I  began  an 
other,  the  title  of  which  I  do  not  now  remember.  Before  it 
was  completed,  however,  I  was  on  my  way  to  England,  where 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  239 

I  rewrote  the  whole,  and  prepared  it  for  the  press,  under  a 
new  title,  that  of  "  Brother  Jonathan."  which,  at  the  end  of 
a  twelvemonth  or  so.  was  published  by  Blaekwood. 

But  what  sent  me  to  England  ?  I  wish  I  could  tell  you. 
All  that  I  remember,  with  certainty,  is.  that  just  when  my 
law-business  had  begun  to  give  me  a  handsome  support,  and 
my  literary  labors,  to  yield  a  fair  contribution.  I  happened  to 
be  dining  with  my  friend,  the  late  Henry  Robinsou,  of  Balti 
more,  an  Englishman  by  birth  and  earlv  education  —  after 
ward  proprietor  of  the  gas-works  at  Boston  —  one  of  the 
worthiest  and  mo>t  honorable  and  generous  men  I  ever  knew. 
The  conversation  turned.  I  know  not  how.  upon  American 
literature,  and  he.  being  full  of  admiration  for  the  ••  Edinburgh  " 
and  "  (Quarterly,"  asked,  in  the  language  of  the  dav,  '•  Who 
reads  an  American  book?"  I  know  not  what  1  said  in  reply; 
but  I  know  how  I  i'elt.  and  that,  finally,  I  told  him.  "  more  in 
sorrow  than  in  anger.''  that  I  would  answer  that  question  from 
over  sea;  that  I  would  leave  my  ollice,  my  librarv.  and  my 
law-business,  and  take  passage  in  the  iirst  vessel  I  could  find 
—  we  had  no  regular  packets  then — and  see  what  mi^lit  be 
done,  with  a  fair  field,  and  no  favor,  by  an  American  writer. 
Irving  had  succeeded  ;  and.  though  I  was  wholly  unlike  Irv 
ing,  why  shouldn't  I'  Cooper  was  well  received;  and  I 
had  a  notion,  that,  without  crossing  his  path,  or  poaching  upon 
his  manor.  I  might  do  something,  so  American,  as  to  secure  the 
attention  «i'  Englishmen. 

Within  a  lew  days.  I  was  on  my  way  with  Captain  Graham, 
of  the  ship  ••  Franklin."  I  believe,  with  a  copy  of  all  my  books, 
a  manuscript-novel  unfinished,  upon  which  I  labored  whenever 
I  could  do  so,  without  growing  dizzy,  or  sea-sick,  and  the  orig 
inal  of  "  Otho,"  which  I  proposed  to  remodel  at  my  leisure. 

On  reaching  Liverpool  —  which  I  wanted  to  write  Liver- 
pull  for  a  month  after  my  arrival,  so  miserably  sea-sick  had  I 
been,  day  after  day,  on  the  voyage*  —  I  lost  no  time  in  seeing 
the  wonders  about  me.  and  making  memoranda  for  future  ref 
erence  ;  many  of  which  went  up  in  the  great  fire  of  July,  18G6. 
And  well  it  was  that  I  did  this  ;  for  afier  a  little  time,  a  few 
months  at  most,  the  objects  which  struck  me  forcibly  at 
first,  became  so  familiar,  that  I  considered  them  hardly  worth 
mentioning ;  such  as  the  women  with  wheelbarrows,  the  pro- 


240  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

digious  dray-horses,  the  men  in  breeches,  the  prize-fight  be 
tween  Tom  Spring  and  Langan,  the  full-length  painting,  by 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  of  His  Majesty  George  the  Fourth, 
the  Nelson-Monument,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

JVoi\  18, 18G8.  —  "Once  more  into  the  breach,  dear  friends 
—  once  more!  "  It  is  inconceivable  that  I.  who  write  so  rap 
idly,  that  a  magazine-article  of  about  the  average  length,  of 
ten  or  twelve  printed  pages,  I  am  able  to  throw  off  in  about 
three  hours,  should  go  to  this  work  with  an  ever-growing  re 
luctance  and  sluggishness  ;  and  yet,  I  never  take  up  my  pen, 
without  fear  of  interruption  or  intrusion,  but  the  old  spirit 
springs  up  in  me  afresh  ;  and  I  feel  as  if,  were  it  not  for  busi 
ness-matters,  and  the  arrangements  I  am  now  making,  to  get 
my  son  established  as  a  lawyer,  I  should  be  delighted  to  throw 
every  thing  else  aside,  and  go  to  work  in  earnest,  and  never 
leave  this  job,  until  it  was  finished.  But  enough. 

Leaving  Liverpool,  and  taking  Chester,  with  its  Roman- 
walls;  Coventry,  with  Peeping-Tom  ;  Leamington;  Litchfield, 
with  its  cathedral,  and  the  memories  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson ; 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  with  Shakspeare ;  Oxford,  and  a  score 
of  other  celebrities  on  my  way,  including  Eaton- Hall,  where 
I  first  saw  the  habitation  of  an  P^nglish  nobleman,  with  deer 
at  large,  and  a  magnificent  park  ;  Kenilworth  and  Warwick- 
Castle,  the  grandest  old  establishment  in  England,  with  hun 
dreds  of  large  pictures,  —  I  went  straightway  to  London,  with 
letters  to  a  friend  in  the  city,  from  another  in  Coventry,  hav 
ing,  at  the  time,  no  idea  of  the  distinctions  that  separated  the 
City  proper  from  the  West-End,  above  Temple-Bar,  though  it 
was  not  long  before  I  did.  to  my  sorrow,  and,  perhaps  I  might 
say,  to  my  amazement. 

My  first  experience  of  London  was  not  calculated  to 
strengthen  —  or  encourage  —  the  feelings  I  had  arrived  with. 
The  weather  was  detestable,  the  ways  dark  and  slippery,  and  the 
general  appearance  of  the  handsomest  streets  and  finest  build 
ings  I  blundered  upon,  for  the  first  two  or  three  days,  while  I 
was  running  at  large,  so  disappointing,  that  I  could  hardly  be 
lieve  myself  in  London.  Could  that  be  St.  Paul's  ?  and  that 
the  Bank  of  England  ?  Was  that  huge  unshapely  column, 
hung  with  fog,  and  dripping  with  unwholesome  dampness,  the 
Monument  we  had  been  told  so  much  of?  And  that,  Carleton- 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  241 

House,  with  a  double  row  of  huge  granite  columns  for  a 
screen,  and  bearing  only  a  low  entablature,  with  the  arms  of 
England?  At  first.  I  could  not  believe  my  own  eyes.  Bond- 
Street  I  found  to  be  but  a  commonplace,  narrow  thorough 
fare  :  and  the  only  things  that  did  not  disappoint  me  were 
Westminster- Abbey,  Hyde-Park,  and  the.  street  statuary  on 
horseback,  though  the  monumental  effigies  in  St.  Paul's  and 
Westminster-Abbey,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  that  gro 
tesque  and  abominable  representation,  or  rather  misrepresen 
tation,  by  Roubilliae,  of  Death,  casting  a  dart  from  a  sort  of 
marble-safe,  at  a  loving  wife,  whom  her  husband  is  protending 
to  shield,  were  sufficiently  out  of  all  my  past  experience,  to 
be  dwelt  upon  with  a  reasonable  degree  of  satisfaction  ;  to 
gether  with  the  brazen  giant.  Achilles,  standing  naked  at  the 
entrance  of  Hyde-Park,  in  commemoration  of  Waterloo,  and 
perhaps  of  the  Pen  insular- War,  cast  from  the  cannon  of  the 
enemy,  at  the  solicitation  of  the  ivomcn  of  Kugland. 

My  first  night  in  London  was  far  from  being  what  a  stranger 
would  be  likelv  to  enjoy.  The  city  friend,  to  whom  I  brought 
a  line  of  earnest  recommendation,  having  ascertained  that  I 
wanted  a  comfortable  room  or  two.  where  I  could  lie  awake 
niirhts.  if  I  chose,  without  being  disturbed,  or  called  to  account, 
secured  lodgings  for  me  at  the  "  Providence-House,"  a  large 
establishment  in  his  immediate  neighborhood  ;  for  which  I  was 
not  sorry,  as  no  mortal  could  foresee  what  I  might  be  called 
upon  to  suffer,  in  this  over-crowded  portion  of  Babylon  the 
Great. 

It  was,  I  must  acknowledge,  a  quiet  and  respectable  house 
enough,  though  somewhat  sanctimonious  and  methodistical. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  day,  we  had  prayers,  which  I  didn't 
much  like,  and  thought,  if  they  persisted,  I  should  want  to 
have  it  considered  in  my  board ;  for  then  I  was  so  much  of  a 
worldling,  if  not  a  reprobate,  I  could  not  even  stomach  un 
questionable  sincerity,  if  it  trenched  upon  my  personal  comfort, 
and  prerogatives ;  and  as  family-prayers  had  not  been  men 
tioned  with  the  board-and-lodging,  and  I  had  not  agreed  to 
attend  them,  I  felt  aggrieved. 

After  tea,  and  the  service  that  followed,  I  strolled  off  to  see 
the  town,  walking  up  one  crowded  thoroughfare,  and  down 
another,  and  wondering  where  on  earth  all  the  people  came 

16 


242  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

from,  till  near  midnight,  when  I  found  myself,  by  great  good 
luck  and  somewhat  unexpectedly,  at  the  door  of  my  lodging- 
house.  I  knocked :  no  answer.  Then  I  knocked  again,  and 
again ;  but  still  no  answer.  There  was  no  bell,  or  I  might 
have  tried  that,  until  the  whole  house,  if  not  the  whole  neigh 
borhood,  was  astir.  Still  no  answer.  Then  I  fell  to  kicking 
and  pounding,  which  I  continued  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes ; 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  from  within  ; 
not  a  sound  from  without.  You  would  have  thought  yourself 
in  a  city  of  the  dead,  or,  at  any  rate,  within  the  wide  enclosure 
of  St.  Paul's  churchyard.  Not  a  window  was  opened  ;  not  a 
watchman  appeared ;  not  a  rattle  was  sprung.  What  was  I 
to  do  ?  In  the  dread  stillness  and  loneliness  of  the  hour,  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  been  shipwrecked  on  some  desolate  island,  like 
that  of  poor  Robinson  Crusoe.  If  not  the  only  survivor,  I 
was  "  monarch  of  all  I  surveyed ; "  for  nobody  thought  of  in 
terfering  with  the  exercise  of  my  new  prerogative. 

At  last,  being  satisfied  that  I  had  nothing  to  hope  for,  in 
that  quarter,  I  started  off  in  search  of  a  shelter ;  and  brought 
up,  after  a  while,  at  what  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  low  ale-house. 
Could  I  have  lodging  for  the  night  ?  "  Certainly,"  said  the 
clumsy,  dirty-looking  landlord,  after  eying  me  suspiciously 
for  half  a  minute,  and  holding  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke: 
"  Eighteen  pence,  if  you  please,  friend."  "  Let  me  see  the 
room,"  said  I.  "  By  all  means  ;"  and  he  led  me  up  a  flight  of 
narrow,  dirty,  rickety  stairs,  into  a  dog's-hole,  with  two  doors, 
and  no  fastenings.  Of  course,  with  my  notions  of  London,  I 
felt  somewhat  queasy  for  a  while ;  but  at  last  determined  to 
run  for  luck,  as  I  had  left  my  valuables  at  my  lodgings  —  all 
but  my  watch,  some  silver,  and  two  or  three  sovereigns,  which 
I  took  pains  not  to  show  —  being  pretty  well  assured,  after 
fastening  the  doors  the  best  way  I  could,  by  piling  the  loose 
furniture  against  them,  such  as  it  was,  that  if  I  didn't  wake 
in  die  morning  and  find  my  pockets  emptied,  my  watch  gone, 
and  my  throat  cut,  I  should  be  a  lucky  fellow  :  and  went  to 
sleep,  and  slept  soundly,  and  woke  astonishingly  refreshed,  with 
my  head  on  my  shoulders,  and  my  treasures  all  safe. 

On  reaching  the  Providence-House,  and  inquiring  why  I 
was  not  admitted,  my  consternation  may  be  guessed  at,  when 
I  was  told  that  they  were  very  much  alarmed  in  the  night,  and 


OFF    TO    ENGLAND.  243 

were  afraid  to  go  to  the  door.  But  why  not  open  a  window  ? 
To  which  rather  significant  inquiry,  there  was  no  intelligible 
answer.  And  so  I  cleared  out;  and  happening  to  have  a 
letter  for  Leslie,  the  painter,  I  hunted  him  up,  and  amused 
him  with  my  last  night's  experience.  Having  heard  me 
through,  he  said  the  City  was  no  place  for  me,  if  I  wanted  to  do 
any  thing  in  a  literary  way.  I  must  come  up  to  the  West- 
End  :  and.  by  the  way.  he  thought  if  I  would  lose  no  time,  I 
mi^ht  secure  the  verv  lodgings  —  two  rooms  on  the  first  floor 
of  a  house  in  Warwick-Street.  Pall-Mall  —  which  had  been 
occupied  by  Washington  Irving  for  a  long  while,  and  where  he 
had  written  the  ••  Sketch-Book. "  I  was  delighted,  of  course, 
and  lost  no  time  in  securing  both  rooms,  a  drawing-room,  and 
little  dark  bed-room  adjoining,  with  board  at,  I  believe,  three 
guineas  a  week ;  more  than  I  could  well  afford  to  pay,  but 
still  within  my  means,  for  a  while,  and  took  possession  inline 
diately  ;  and  here  endeth  the  fourteenth  chapter. 


244  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

LONDON  EXPERIENCES. 

TRIALS  OF  AUTHORSHIP;  "  BLACKWOOD,"  AND  THE  MONTHLIES  AND 
QUARTERLIES;  VAGABOND  ENGLISHMEN;  "BROTHER  JONATHAN;"  T. 
CAMPBELL;  JEFFREY;  "NIAGARA,"  AND  THE  "FIERCE  GRAY  BIRD;" 
NAYLOR,  M.C.  ;  COLONEL  BAKER ;  SOLICITOR  PARKES  ;  MORE  VAGABOND 
ENGLISHMEN. 

JAN.  1,  1868.  —  Another  year !  Portland  is  now  rebuilt,  and 
greatly  enlarged  and  beautified,  with  wider  streets,  much 
handsomer  public-buildings,  and  stores,  and  churches,  and  an 
abundant  supply  of  the  best  water  in  the  world,  the  very 
best,  by  analysis,  on  its  way  into  our  houses.  But  where  am 
I?  Wandering  blindfold  over  opening  graves,  and  along  the 
edge  of  crumbling  precipices.  How  few  are  now  left  of  the 
many  millions  that  started  with  me  on  the  journey  of  life, 
three-quarters  of  a  century  ago  ?  And  even  of  those  few, 
some  are  dropping  out  of  the  procession  every  day,  and  every 
hour  —  with  every  pulsation  of  my  arteries,  indeed;  while 
others  are  missing,  whenever  I  turn  my  head  to  count  the 
stragglers.  Be  it  so.  I  would  not  murmur.  I  have  had 
more  than  my  share  of  the  blessings,  and  opportunities,  and 
privileges,  that  make  life  desirable,  and  so  few  of  the  disap 
pointments  and  trials,  the  sufferings  and  sorrows,  that  make 
life  itself  a  burden  to  the  few,  that  I  wonder  at  myself,  and 
chiefly  at  my  unthankfulness  and  forgetfulness. 

To  proceed  therefore.  Let  us  go  back  to  London.  Being 
now  fairly  settled  for  a  season,  if  not  for  life,  in  the  great 
metropolis  of  English  literature,  I  began  to  cast  about  for 
something  to  do,  by  way  of  answering  the  insolent  question, 
which  had  taken  me  over  sea — "  Who  reads  an  American 
book?"  But  what  should  that  something  be?  Should  I  try 
my  hand  first  with  magazine-articles,  or  newspapers,  or  let  fly 
two  or  three  novels,  to  beg;in  with  ?  Whitaker  and  Co.  had 
republished  my  "  Seventy-Six."  in  three  volumes,  and  A.  K. 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  245 

Newman  and  Co..  in  1823.  '•  Logan,"  in  four  ;  and  both  had  been 
well  received,  and  somewhat  extravagantly  praised,  if  I  may 
judire  by  what  I  saw  in  one.  at  least,  of  the  London  monthlies. 

After  considering  the  matter,  on  my  first  arrival,  and  before 
I  had  taken  lodgings  at  the  West-End.  I  determined  to  eall 
upon  these  publishers,  and  see  if  they  could  be  entrapped 
into  republishing  "  Randolph,"  or  ••  Errata  ;  "  or  if  they  would 
venture  upon  a  manuscript-story,  in  two  or  three  volumes, 
which  I  had  begun  before  I  left  America,  and  nearly  finished 
on  the  way  over,  though  sea-sick  most  of  the  time,  and  which 
appeared  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth  or  so,  as  '•  Brother 
Jonathan,"  published  by  Blackwood. 

But.  although  the  gentlemen  were  exceedingly  courteous, 
they  fought  shy  ;  and  I  soon  saw  clearly  enough  that  line 
words  butter  no  parsnips.  And  after  getting  my  city-address, 
which,  I  remembered  after  it  was  all  over,  they  seemed  to 
have  no  great  admiration  for  —  especially  as.  instead  of  tak 
ing  a  coach  or  a  porter.  I  had  carried  my  books  under  my 
arm  —  they  managed  to  get  rid  of  me,  by  acknowledging  that 
they  were  afraid  to  undertake  any  thing  more,  under  the  pres 
sure  of  the  times.  &<\,  &c.  I  could  not  blame  them  ;  for  the 
works  I  ottered  were  not  much  •*  in  their  way,"  though  they 
might  have  been,  for  a  long  while,  had  they  undertaken  the 
job. 

Having  satisfied  myself  that  I  had  nothing  to  hope  for,  in 
the  way  of  republication,  and  as  little  from  any  new  book, 
before  1  should  have  established  for  myself  a  British,  or  at 
least  an  English,  reputation.  I  determined  to  try  the  maga 
zines  ;  and.  after  weighing  the  matter  well,  to  begin  with 
"  Blackwood."  the  cleverest,  the  sauciest,  and  the  most  un 
principled  of  all  our  calumniators. 

If  I  could  manage  to  get  possession  of  that  blazing  rocket- 
battery,  and  turn  its  fire  upon  the  swarming  whipper-snappers, 
who  were  alwavs  lying  about  our  institutions,  and  habits,  and 
prospects — now  in  the  newspapers,  like  "  John  Bull;"  now 
in  the  "  Edinburgh  Quarterly  ;  "  now  in  the  record  of  British 
travellers,  like  the  author  of  a  "Summary  Mew  of  America;" 
and  now  in  the  House-of-Commons  —  it  seemed  to  me,  that 
I  should  have  my  hands  full  for  a  time  ;  and  that,  by  perse 
verance  and  good  luck.  I  might  be  able  to  carry  the  war  into 


246  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

Africa,  with  a  vengeance,  and  furnish  a  pretty  good  answer  to 
the  insolent  question,  "  W/to  reads  an  American  book?" 

Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  sat  down,  and  wrote  a  paper 
for  "  Blackwood,"  making,  if  I  remember  aright,  six  printed 
pages,  about  our  "  Five  American  Presidents."  and  the  five 
presidential  candidates  then  before  the  country  —  Andrew 
Jackson,  John  Quincy  Adams,  Henry  Clay,  John  C.  Calhoun, 
and  William  H.  Crawford  —  giving  outline  sketches  of  them 
all,  and  venturing,  modestly  enough,  to  foretell  certain  results, 
which  were  speedily  verified. 

With  this  paper,  I  sent  a  letter  signed  "  Carter  Holmes," 
acknowledging,  however,  that  the  name  was  adopted  for  the 
occasion,  but  promising,  whenever  called  for  by  anybody, 
who  might  fancy  himself  aggrieved,  to  abandon  my  conceal 
ment,  and  give  up  my  real  name.  I  took  especial  care  also, 
to  write  as  if  I  were  an  Englishman,  a  traveller,  who  had 
seen  something  of  the  Americans,  and  was  willing  to  turn 
what  he  knew  of  them  to  account ;  for  I  had  good  reason  to 
believe,  that  communications  from  an  American,  if  he  did  not 
abuse  America,  would  go  into  the  Balaam-basket. 

In  due  course  of  mail,  I  received  a  reply  from  Blackwood 
himself,  saying,  that  if  I  chose  to  communicate  my  real  name, 
it  should  be  a  secret  between  ourselves,  though  he  did  not 
require  to  know  it;  and  soon  after,  the  very  next  month 
indeed,  came  the  article  to  me  in  print,  with  an  order  on  Mr. 
Cadell  for  five  guineas,  more  than  I  had  ever  received  in  my  life 
from  all  the  magazines  I  had  ever  written  for,  in  this  country. 

My  paper  produced  quite  a  sensation,  and  was  immediately 
borrowed,  and  copied,  -and  quoted,  and  reproduced,  not  only 
in  the  journals  of  the  day,  but  in  the  k'  New  European," 
edited  by  the  famous  Dr.  Alexander  Walker,  which  was  said 
to  appear  simultaneously  in  two  or  three  different  languages, 
on  the  Continent. 

In  a  note  now  before  me,  from  Mr.  Henry  Southern,  editor 
of  the  "  London  Magazine,"  after  poor  John  Scott  had  been 
sacrificed,  and  sub-editor  of  the  '•  Westminster,"  dated  March 
17th,  1826,  I  find  the  following  passage:  "I  shall  be  equally 
candid  —  for  this,  and  two  or  three  more  similar,  the  Maga 
zine  can  afford  to  pay  £10  each"  ($50). 

Dec.  2,  1868.  —  Almost  another  year,  since  I  have  written 


LONDON    EXPERIKNCES.  247 

a  line  of  this  autobiography,  having  been  so  busv  with.. law, 
in  a  small  way.  which  I  have  •zone  back  to.  tor  the  sake  of  my 
only  son.  Pierpont,  who  has  al\vavs  had  a  weakness  for  the 
profession,  though  serving  for  a  while  as  a  midshipman  :  and 
having  written  at  least  an  octavo  volume  for  the  "  Atlantic," 
the  "•  Phrenological  .Journal."  and  other  magazines,  to  keep 
myself  out  of  mischief,  while  waiting  for  a  wind.  I  begin  to 
think  it  high  time  for  me  to  finish  what  I  have  be^un  so 
many  times,  and  left  almost  as  soon  as  begun,  for  the  last  year 
or  two,  being  now  past  seventy-five. 

"  Bock  agin."  therefore,  to  Auld  Reekie,  and  my  doinizs 
with  "  Blackwood.  '  There  were  some  droll  errors  in  my  first 
paper  about  the  Presidents,  and  presidential  candidates,  two 
or  three  of  which  are  worth  correcting,  even  at  this  late  hour, 
lest  they  should  continue  to  be  repeated  hereafter,  as  they 
have  been  heretofore. 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  farm  at  Monticello,  the  printers 
made  me  say — I  never  saw  the  proof — "Mr.  Jefferson's 
fame  at  Muclicello  : "  and  where  I  had  written,  "•  he  expected 
the  war."  they  said.  ••  he  cspeded  the  war  :  "  probably  mistak 
ing  the  word  for  an  Americanism,  which  would  not  bear  to  be 
tampered  with,  like  ''jeopardize,"  or  ••  to  progress  ;  "  and  where 
I  wrote,  in  the  plainest  possible  hand.  "  The  countenance  of 
the  American  £overnment.  under  Washington,  throughout  all 
its  foreign  negotiations  and  domestic  administration,  was  erect 
and  natural,  very  strong,  simple,  and  grave,''  instead  of 
countenance,  the  blockheads  printed  it  continuance,  which,  of 
course,  made  the  most  deplorable  nonsense  of  it.  Neverthe 
less,  the  blunders  were  copied  into  the  European-magazine, 
already  mentioned,  and  perpetuated  elsewhere,  with  scrupu 
lous  fidelity,  as  if  they  really  meant  something,  so  that,  from, 
that  day  to  this,  I  am  continually  meeting  with  them. 

This  paper  led  to  my  becoming  a  regular  monthly  con 
tributor  for  "  Blackwood,"  up  to  February,  1820.  when  I 
withdrew  the  first  of  what  were  to  be  called  "  North  Ameri 
can  Stories,"  after  it  was  in  type,  and  paid  for  ;  and  there 
ended  my  writing  for  ••  Blackwood."  This  very  story,  by  the 
way.  was  founded  on  our  Salem  witchcraft,  and  constituted  the 
framework  of  ••  Rachel  Dver,"  after  mv  return  to  America. 

All  the  papers  written  for  "  Blackwood,"  except  one  about 


248  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Men  and  Women,"  where  I  undertook  to  show  their  equality, 
and  that  the  difference  between  the  sexes  was  not  owing  to 
organization,  but   to    temperament  and  sensibility,  had   rela 
tion  to  America,  and  American-affairs.      I  took  up  all   our 
writers,  from  recollection,  without  referring  to  a  book,  and 
then  all  our  painters:   and   then  I  reviewed   the   reviewers, 
and  gave  the  author  of  a  new  book,  which  appeared  under 
the   title  of  "  Summary  View  of  America."  such   a  scoring 
that  he  was  never  heard  of  afterward.     It  just  occurs  to  me, 
and  now  is  the  time  to  mention  it,  that  after  my  paper  on 
"Men  and  Women"  appeared,  in  which  I  insisted  upon  the 
equality  of  the  sexes,  and  the  influence  of  temperament,  as 
distinct  from  organization,  in  October,  1824.  Mr.  Jeffrey  came 
out  in  the  "Edinburgh  Review,"  for  September,  1826,  with 
what  follows,  in  corroboration  of  my  views :    *'  We  think  it 
probable  that  some  men  have  originally  a  greater  excitability, 
or  general  vivacity  of  mind,  than  others  ;  and  that  is  the  chief 
difference.     But  considering  how  variously  this  may  be  devel 
oped  or  directed,  in  after  life,  it  seems  to  us  of  no  sort  of 
importance,  whether  we  call  it  a  temperament,  and  say  it  is 
marked  by  the  color-  of  the  hair  and  the  eyes,  or  maintain  that 
it  is  a  balance  of  certain  powers  and  propensities,  the  organs 
of  which  are  on  the  skull."     Here  at  least,  by  the  way,  was,  i£, 
not  a  recognition  of  phrenology,  a  penumbra  —  the  shadow 
of  a  shade  —  showing  what  there  was  behind  it  somewhere. 
1   My  chief  object,  from   the  firat,  was   to  bring  together  — 
and  not  to  segregate,  alienate,  or  embitter  —  two  gre;it  na 
tions,  with  a  common  lineage,  a  common  history,  a  common 
language,  a  common    literature,  a    common    purpose,  and    a 
common  interest.     To  do  this  effectually,  I  must  write  as  an 
Englishman,  or,  at  least,  not  as  an  American  ;  being  always 
careful  to  say  the  truth,  and  always  ready  to  acknowledge  the 
faults  of  others,  and  especially  of  my  countrymen.  * 
•   Writing  for  the  newspapers  on  such  a  subject  was  out  of 
the  question  ;  for  what  knew  they,  and  what  cared  they,  about 
America,  or  American-affairs  ?     Our  literature,  they  had  been 
taught  to  believe,  and.  I  have  no  doubt,  did  honestly  believe, 
was  "imported   in   bales   and  hogsheads;"   our   authors,  all 
imitators  and  plagiarists  ;  and  that  the  highest  compliment  in 
the  world  for  us,  and  for  them,  was  to  call  Washington  Irving 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  249 

the  American  Goldsmith,  Cooper,  the  American  Scott.  Charles 
Brockden  Brown,  tlu-  American  Godwin,  and  Mrs.  Siopoiirnev, 
the  American  Ilnnans  :  all  well  enough,  to  IK-  sure,  it'  it  were 
onlv  meant  to  characterize  their  several  works  and  writings, 
because  of  a  resemblance  they  saw  to  some  of  theirs.  But 
tliev  had  no  such  idea:  it  was  intended  for  encouragement, 
like  patting  a  fellow  on  the  hack,  and  preparing  him  for  liter 
ary  canonization,  or.  it  may  he,  for  bolting  flapjacks,  after  a 
fashion  peculiar  to  ourselves,  <ke.,  L\CC..  &c.,  subject  neverthe 
less,  &c.,  &c..  &c. 

1  But  I  did  not  reach  this  conclusion,  till  I  had  tried  some  of 
the  newspapers,  and  they  had  tried  me  severely.  To  exam 
ple  :  On  seeing  in  the  ••  Times,''  or  the  "John  Bull "  newspaper, 
edited  by  Theodore  Hook  —  I  forget  which — a  shameful 
attack  on  Washington,  wherein  he  was  contrasted  with  Boli 
var,  and  charged  with  Franklin's  greatest  virtue,  niggardli 
ness,  or.  at  least,  with  unreasonable  thrift,  I  sent  a  brief, 
but,  in  my  judgment,  a  conclusive  reply  :  saying,  first,  that 
Washington  had  refused  pay  for  his  services  as  -Commander- 
in-chief,  during  the  whole  revolutionary  war.  which  lasted 
nearly  eight  years,  asking  only  to  be  indemnified  for  actual 
disbursements  and  outlays,  on  account  of  the  army,  and 
refusing  to  receive  a  penny  for  which  he  did  not  produce  the 
most  unquestionable  vouchers,  though  some  had  been  lost,  or 
destroyed,  he  knew  not  no\\ywhile  moving  the  army,  whereby 
he  was  a  loser  to  a  considerable  amount,  according  to  his  care 
fully  kept  account-books  :  and.  secondly,  that  when  his  agent 
refused  to  furnish  supplies  for  the  British  vessels  of  war, 
lying  oiF  Mount- Vernon,  Washington's  plantation,  though  he 
had  good  reason  to  believe  they  would  open  fire  upon  the 
place  —  the  officer  in  command  having  threatened  to  do  so  — 
he  proved  beyond  all  question  one  of  two  things  —  either  that 
Washington  had  given  such  orders,  or  that  he  knew  enough 
of  Washington's  character  to  be  willing  to  take  the  responsi 
bility.  This  communication  did  not  appear  in  the  paper  that 
contained  the  charges,  I  believe,  though  I  greatly  desired  to 
send  the  antidote  after  the  poison  —  the  weasel  after  the  rat 
—  and  through  the  same  channels;  but  1  had  kept  a  copy, 
and  it  appeared  elsewhere  in  pretty  good  season,  though  I 
forget  where  just  now. 


250  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

At  another  time,  I  had  a  short  interview  with'  the  proprie 
tor  of  the  "  Morning-Herald,"  if  I  do  not  mistake,  who,  under 
standing  that  I  should  soon  be  in  Paris,  wanted  to  engage  me 
as  a  correspondent,  and  particularly  to  show  up  that  u  Old 
Granny,  Lafayette."  The  fellow's  name  was  Thwaites,  and 
he  had  been  a  celebrated  linen-draper,  not  long  before,  with 
out  education  or  manners,  but  shrewd,  inquisitive,  and  smart 
as  a  steel-trap.  Of  course,  we  did  not  agree ;  and  I  had  no 
further  communication  with  the  gentleman,  till  long  after  my 
return  to  America,  when  I  wrote  a  series  of  articles  about 
our  north-eastern  boundary,  which,  without  my  knowledge, 
were  offered  to  him.  These  I  had  kept  in  a  large  blank-book, 
together  with  some  letters  from  Governor  Lincoln,  of  Maine, 
which  were  in  a  measure  confidential,  though  committed  to 
my  discretion.  All  these  papers,  a  vagabond  Englishman, 
one  of  a  score  I  have  had  to  do  with  in  the  course  of  my  life, 
borrowed  of  me,  at  the  most  critical  time  of  our  negotiations, 
when  the  Aroostook-war  was  beginning  to  loom  up,  under 
pretence  of  showing  them,  confidentially,  to  the  governor- 
general,  and  never  returned  them.  The  gentleman's  name  I 
lost  in  the  tire  —  would  it  had  been  the  gentleman  himself — 
or  I  should  certainly  show  him  up  here  at  full  length,  having 
kept  him  in  reserve  for  that  very  purpose. 

To  the  monthlies  and  quarterlies,  therefore,  I  determined 
to  confine  my  operations,  for  a 'while  at  least,  until  I  could 
make  it  desirable  for  them  all  to  have  an  American-Depart 
ment,  instead  of  being  satisfied  with  an  occasional  paragraph 
on  American  affairs,  in  the  shape  of  a  fling,  or  a  slur.  And 
before  six  mouths  were  over,  J  had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  get 
papers  about  America  and  American  affairs.  American  lit 
erature,  and  American  art,  into  "  Blackwood,"  the  "  New 
Monthly,"  the  "  Old  IVJonthly,"  the  "  London  Magazine,"  the 
"  New  European,"  the  "  Oriental  Herald  "  —  a  quarterly,  man 
aged  by  "  Silk  Buckingham,"  who  afterward  lectured  in  this 
country,  after  a  fashion,  without  informing  our  people  that  he 
had  once  sailed  a  merchant-vessel  out  of  Norfolk,  Va.,  before 
he  went  to  the  British  East-Indies,  where  he  set  up  the 
"  Herald  " — the  "  Westminster,"  the  "  European,"  second  series, 
got  up,  without  my  knowledge  at  the  time,  by  the  proprietors 
of  the  "  John  Bull "  newspaper,  which  had  been  always  lying 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  251 

about  us,  and  abusing  us,  and  all  our  institutions  and  habits, 
and  published  by  Miller  of  Black  Friars,  who  was  known 
everywhere  as  the  American  bookseller,  though  an  English 
man  by  birth  and  education,  and  only  an  American  bookseller, 
because  he  had  brought  out  the1  ••  Sketch-Book  "  by  Irving, 
after  it  had  been  poohed  at,  by  Murray;  and  then  Cooper's 
works,  one  after  another,  until  he  passed  them  over  to  Col- 
burn.  It  was  Miller  who  engaged  me,  but  the  deception  did 
not,  avail;  for  soon  after  my  controversy  with  Mr.  Charles 
Matthews,  about  his  audacious  and  blundering  mj's-representa- 
tions  of  the  Yankee  character,  which  appeared  in  that  periodi 
cal,  1  came  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  ;  and,  although 
handsomely  paid.  1  refused  to  write  another  line  for  it.  The 
Baileys,  too,  of  Long- Acre  —  with  whose  progenitors  Dr. 
Franklin  labored,  and  out  of  whose  establishment  came  the 
printing-press  at  which  he  worked,  while  preaching  temper 
ance  to  the  beer-drinkers  about  him,  and  which  is  now,  I 
believe,  in  the  Philadelphia-Museum  —  actually  went  so  far 
as  to  buy  up  an  old  monthly,  for  the  purpose  of  introdu,  ing  an 
American-Department,  which  was  committed  to  my  charge. 

In  a  word,  my  plan  worked  handsomely  ;  and  I  was  in 
great  demand  for  whatever  related  to  the  "  United-States  of 
North-America,"  a  title  I  began  to  use,  instead  of  ik  America," 
as  more  significant  and  exclusive  than  the  "  United-States," 
there  being  a  plentiful  supply  of  "  United-States  "  coming  and 
going,  like  shadows,  in  South-America  and  elsewhere. 

My  signatures,  when  I  used  any  at  all,  were  strange  and 
multifarious ;  whether  I  wrote  on  America,  or  upon  other 
miscellaneous  subjects,  which  I  did  only  at  long  intervals,  as 
upon  k'  Men  and  Women  "  in  "Blackwood,"  or  on  '•  Verbicide" 
—  punning  —  in  the  "  Old  Monthly."  They  were  signed 
A.  C.,  K,  A.  B.  C.,  X.  Y.  Z.,  A..  W.  A.,  Omega,  Frederich 
Kichter,  &c.,  &c.,  &c..  and  were  varied,  according  to  circum- 
-tances'for  different  journals,  that  all  papers  about  America, 
or  American  affairs,  might  not  be  supposed  to  proceed  from 
the  same  individual. 

When  it  is  remembered,  that,  up  to  this  period,  May.  1824, 
no  American  writer  had  ever  found  his  way  into  any  of  these 
periodicals,  and  that  American  affairs  were  dealt  with  in 
short,  insolent  paragraphs,  full  of  misapprehension,  or  of 


252  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

downright  misrepresentation,  as  if  they  were  dealing  with 
Fejee  Islanders,  or  Timbuctoos,  without  fear  of  contradiction, 
say  what  they  would,  it  must  be  admitted,  I  think,  that  my 
plan  was  both  well-conceived,  and  well-carried  out. 

And  then,  too,  if  we  call  to  mind  the  fact,  that,  since  I  gave 
up  writing  for  these  journals,  there  has  been  no  such  thing  in 
any  of  them  as  an  American-Department,  nor  even  so  much 
as  a  decent  article  about  America  —  the  United  States  of 
America,  I  mean ;  and  that,  with  the  exception  of  Albert 
Pike,  who  furnished  half  a  score  of  respectable  sonnets  for 
"  Blackwood,"  not  to  be  compared  with  the  poetry  he  wrote 
for  me,  when  I  had  charge  of  the  "  Yankee."  and  Mr.  Story, 
the  sculptor,  whose  wonderful  poem  of  *•  Cleopatra,"  entitled 
him  to  a  hearing  there,  if  anywhere  on  earth  —  not  an  Ameri 
can  writer,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  ever  written  a  page  for  any 
of  these  monthlies  or  quarterlies,  from  that  day  to  this,  it 
will  be  admitted,  I  hope,  that  I  did  something  for  my  country 
while  abroad,  something  for  her  literature,  and  something  by 
way  of  reply  to  the  exasperating  question.  "  Who  reads  an 
American  book  ?  "  Nevertheless  —  but  we  may  as  well  defer 
this  part  of  my  experience,  till  I  have  to  say  what  happened 
after  my  return  to  Portland,  because,  or  chiefly,  if  not  alto 
gether,  because  of  my  writings  while  abroad,  as  the  "  enemy 
of  our  country,  of  her  institutions,  and  her  literature." 

But  I  had  many  a  snubbing,  and  not  a  few  uncomfortable 
disappointments,  to  put  up  with,  and  two  or  three  unpleasant 
misunderstandings  to  adjust,  before  the  campaign  was  over. 
For  example:  After  I  had  secured,  as  I  thought,  a  fair  field, 
and  no  favor,  in  the  great  "  European,"  edited  by  Dr.  Alex 
ander  Walker  —  I  believe  he  was  a  Doctor,  and  perhaps  an 
LL.D.,  or  something  of  the  sort  —  he  having  republished  my 
article  on  the  "  Presidents  and  Presidential  Candidates,"  from 
"•Black wood," in  May,  1824,  with  all  the  atrocious  blunders,  and 
one  or*  two  other  papers  of  mine,  about  America  and  American 
affairs,  furnished  for  that  periodical,  I  received  the  following 
brief  note  from  him,  written  with  a  crow-quill,  on  gilt-edged 
paper,  in  the  daintiest  of  female  hands,  not  to  be  compared 
for  manliness  with  that  of  Mrs.  Wheeler,  the  Mary  Wolston- 
croft  of  her  day,  through  whose  agency  we  had  become  ac 
quainted  :  — 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  253 

"DEAR  Sin. —  Our  article  on  Lord  Byron  was  printed  be 
fore  I  got  yours.  It  is  quite  different.  I  think  the  other 
papers  too  partial  to  the  United  States  to  be  well  received, 
even  by  liberal  Britons.  The  battery  anecdote,  and  its  con 
trasts  are  a  great  deal  too  good. 

"  I  am,  iny  dear  sir,  most  respectfully  yours, 
[No  date.]  *•  A.  WALKER." 

In  giving  a  few  brief  sketches  of  American  character,  I 
had  mentioned  Colonel  Miller's  reply  at  the  battle  of  Bridge- 
water,  or  Lundy's  Lane,  when  asked  if  he  could  carry  that 
battery.  "  I'll  try."  said  lie  :  and  carried  it.  Here  was  a  fine 
example  of  the  temper  I  had  to  deal  with,  sometimes,  when  I 
fell  in  with,  or  fell  out  with,  a  loyal  Scotchman,  always  more 
extravagantly  and  obstreperously  loyal,  than  any  native-born 
Englishman  ;  just  as  the  provincials  and  colonists  are  now. 

Another  note  from  the  same  individual,  who,  by  the  way, 
had  just  made  a  tierce  onslaught  upon  phrenology,  contending 
that  the  cerebellum  was  the  seat  of  muscular  action,  and  noth 
ing  else,  and  that  no  other  function  could  be  predicated  of  it; 
and  was  actually  preparing  to  do  for  the  world  what  D'Alem- 
bert  had  failed  to  do  —  that  is.  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  all 
who  had  preceded  him,  in  philosophy  and  science,  literature 
and  art,  having  wearied  of  that  narrower  course,  whereby  he 
'•gave  up  to  the  few  what  was  meant  for  mankind" — ran 
thus : — 


"  DEAR  SIR,  —  '  The  Dream '  is  incompatible  with  our 
plan.  The  other  paper  is,  in  my  opinion,  too  serious  a  reply 
to  a  mere?  jeux  d'esprit  [instead  of  jen  d'esprit].  I  have  re 
ceived  two  others  of  a  lighter  kind  ;  neither  so  thoroughly 
investigating  the  matter,  yet  either  forming  a  more  appropri 
ate  reply.  Your  paper  on  the  '  Presidents  '  was  a  valuable 
one.  Sincerely  yours, 

[No  date.]  "  ALEX.  WALKER." 

"Your  paper  was  a  valuable  one!  "  What  a  shocking  vul 
garism  for  a  great  reformer !  Worse,  if  possible,  than  his 
jeux  d'esprit,  while  engaged  in  supplying  the  deficiencies,  and 
correcting  the  errors  of  the  great  Frenchman,  D'Alembert. 


254  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

To  be  sure,  the  same  fault  occurs  every  day,  not  only  in  our 
newspapers,  but  in  our  journals  of  the  highest  pretension. 
The  writers  ought  to  be  indicted.  But  enough.  Here  ended 
my  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Walker,  whose  fresh  countenance, 
fine  head  on  the  whole,  white  hair,  and  pompous,  dignified 
carriage,  are  all  before  me  now,  as  I  saw  him,  at  the  age  of 
sixty  or  thereabouts,  with  such  a  marvellous  distinctness,  that 
I  verily  believe  I  could  sketch  him,  and  almost  paint  him,  to 
the  life,  had  I  the  gift  I  have  always  been  thought  to  possess, 
ever  since  I  first  began  to  talk  about  painting  and  painters  ; 
a  great  mistake,  by  the  way,  for  I  never  had  any  special 
talent  for  brush-portraiture,  whatever  I  may  have  had  from 
the  first,  for  pen-portraiture. 

Next,  I  had  a  bone  to  pick  with  Colburn's  "  New  Monthly." 
For  all  these  contributions,  I  received  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
guineas  a  sheet.  After  my  first  article  appeared  in  the 
"  New  Monthly,"  I  waited  for  my  pay,  till  I  began  to  feel 
neglected.  Whereupon,  I  dropped  a  line  to  Mr.  T.  Camp 
bell,  the  editor,  who  lost  no  time  in  sending  me  what  fol 
lows  :  — 

"  10,  Upper  Seymour  Street,  Sept.  27,  182G. 

"  SIR,  —  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  that  you  have  had  occa 
sion  to  write  so  strong  a  remonstrance.  To-morrow,  the 
matter  shall  be  represented  to  Mr.  Oilier,  Mr.  Colburu's 
partner :  the  money  which  is  due  you,  and  which  ought  to 
have  been  remitted,  shall  be  transmitted  in  a  few  days.  I 
am  not  aware  that  I  saw  your  paper  earlier  than  July,  and  it 
was  printed  the  end  of  August.  Believe  me,  in  the  delay  of 
payment,  there  has  been  no  intention  to  underrate  the  value 
of  a  very  sensible  contribution.  I  should  send  you  the  money 
out  of  my  own  pocket,  if  it  were  not  too  late  to-day,  to  get  it 
from  my  banker.  [Why  not  send  a  check?]  But  be  assured, 
that  it  shall  be  remitted  to  you  in  a  very  few  days.  '  Mr. 
Colburn  is  still  out  of  town,  but  you  may  depend  on  my 
making  Mr.  Oilier  settle  the  matter  speedily. 

"  I  am,  sir,  yours  with  respect,  T.  CAMPBELL." 

While  thus  occupied.  I  prepared  "  Brother  Jonathan  "  for 
Mr.  Blackwood.  It  appeared  in  three  handsome  volumes, 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  255 

and  T  was  paid  my  own  price  for  it,  two  hundred  guineas, 
after  rewriting:  the  whole,  I  dare  not  say  how  many  times. 
The  original  manuscript  I  had  brought  with  me  from  Bal 
timore,  working  on  it.  in  the  midst  of  storm  and  sea-sickness, 
all  the  way  over.  But  my  notions  changed,  after  writing 
a  while  for  the  magazines  ;  and  I  rewrote  every  page  of  it 
again  —  everv  paragraph,  I  miirht  say ;  so  that  the  whole 
web.  warp  and  woof,  was  changed  with  a  view  to  Blackwood. 
But.  on  reading  it  all  over,  and  subjecting  it  to  the  judgment 
of  Professor  Wilson,  alias  Christopher  Xorth,  and  to  some 
other  individual  of  great  good  sense,  and  large  experience, 
thev  had  their  misgivings  about  certain  portions ;  and  he, 
Blackwood.  was  cruelly  disappointed.  Whereupon,  I  wrote 
it  all  over  again,  for  the  third  time,  rejecting  large  portions 
altogether,  some  of  which  appeared  after  my  return  to  Amer 
ica,  and  altering  other  portions,  and  changing  and  qualifying 
the  incidents,  characters,  and  plot,  gashing  and  peppering  the 
whole  with  commas,  and  colons,  and  semicolons,  and  a  plenty 
of  dashes,  until  it  had  become  almost  a  new  story,  when  it 
was  accepted,  and  brought  forth  in  superior  style,  both  at 
London  and  in  Edinburgh. 

Many  reviews  appeared,  and  all  sufficiently  gratifying, 
both  at  London  and  Paris  ;  and  all.  too.  by  utter  strangers 
to  me.  But  the  most  remarkable  notice  appeared  in  a  vol 
ume  of  "  Rejected  Articles,"  published  by  Colburn,  and 
written  bv  nobody  knows  whom,  to  this  day.  I  believe,  con 
taining  capital  imitations  of  William  Cobbett,  Francis  Jeffrey, 
and  others,  and  a  review  of  "  Brother  Jonathan,"  purporting 
to  have  been  written  by  Jeffrey  himself — evidently  sug 
gested  bv  the  '*  Rejected  Addresses,"  which  had  been  so  suc 
cessful  many  years  before,  by  the  two  Smiths. 

Dec.  9,  1868.  —  I  have  just  lighted  on  the  following  brief 
letter,  which  refers  to  what  was  "  left  over,"  when  I  had  fin 
ished —  for  the  third  time  —  the  story  of  "Brother  Jonathan." 
"  Otterbag "  was  one  of  the  many  episodes  I  threw  aside, 
while  revising  it  for  the  last  time  ;  and  after  my  return  to 
America,  it  appeared  in  the  "  Token,"  edited  by  Mr.  Good 
rich. 


256  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Literary  Union  Club-IIouse,  Waterloo  Place, 
"  Regent  Street,  London,  Jan.  29,  1830. 

"In  selecting  matter  for  our  reprint  of  the  "shorter  pieces 
of  American  writers,  with  a  view  to  place  American  literature 
before  the  British  public  in  a  favorable  light.  Miss  Mitford 
and  myself  have  taken  that  most  admirable  creation  of  genius, 
'  Otterbag,'  for  the  first  article  of  the  first  work.  It  is  enti 
tled  '  Stories  of  American  Life,  by  American  writers.' 

"  JAMES  ATHEARN  JONES." 

After  this,  he  wrote  me  concerning  his  "  Tales  of  an  In 
dian  Camp : "  "I  know  your  power,"  he  says,  "  with  the 
pen,  and  your  merciless  cautery  when  you  choose  to  employ 
the  iron.  ...  It  is  you,  sir,  that  have  induced  me  to  write 
this  book,  or  rather  to  edit  it.  ...  That  remark"  [some 
thing  I  said  in  "  Blackwood  "]  "•  has  been  my  stay  and  staff.  I 
am  now  endeavoring  to  make  it  good  in  a  novel,  descriptive 
of  New-England  manners,  under  the  title  of  "  Robert  Lynn ; 
or,  the  History  of  an  American  Parvenu."  I  shall  not 
publish  it  till  next  winter,  being  determined  to  write  and  re 
write,  and  after  correct,  till  I  do  every  thing  that  I  am 
capable  of  doing." 

And  this  reminds  me  of  two  other  cases,  which,  though 
out  of  chronological  order,  have  relation  to  this  part  of  my 
story,  and  may  therefore  as  well  come  in  here,  as  anywhere. 
Among  my  many  letters  from  Edgar  A.  Foe,  is  the  following, 
received  while  I  was  editor  of  the  "Yankee:"  the  rest  I 
have  parted  with  to  fairs,  though  some  were  very  precious, 
inasmuch  as  they  showed  the  first  outcroppings  of  his  genius, 
when  he  proposed  to  dedicate  his  first  poems  to  me,  and  I 
said,  "  No  :  it  would  be  fatal  to  the  book." 

"Philadelphia,  June  4th  [no  year].     . 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  As  you  gave  me  the  first  jog  in  my  literary 
career,  you  are  in  a  measure  bound  to  protect  me,  and  keep 
me  rolling.  I  therefore  now  ask  you  to  aid  me  with  your 
influence,  in  whatever  manner  your  experience  shall  sug 
gest. 

"  It  strikes  me,  that  I  never  write  you  except  to  ask  a  favor." 
[Very  true;  but  Poe  was  only  one  of  a  hundred  who  might 


HOME  rxi'i-.niKXCES.  257 


say  the  same  thing.]  "  But  my  friend  Thomas  will  assure 
you.  that  I  bear  you  always  in  mind,  holding  you  in  the 
highest  respect  and  esteem. 

"Most  truly  yours,  EDGAR  A.  POE." 

The  other  incident,  and  one  of  the  last  in  this  connection, 
occurred  thus.  I  happened  to  be  in  Washington,  and  in  the 
House,  at  the  time  when  Wise,  and  Stanley  of  North-Carolina, 
had  their  controversy  on  the  floor  of  the  House,  and  when  Foote 
and  Benton  almost  came  to  loggerheads  there.  Most  of  the 
Southern  and  Western  members  were  armed  to  the  teeth,  and 
all  were  expecting  a  terrible  outbreak,  under  pretence  of 
organization. 

While  standing  near  the  desk  of  Albert  Smith,  member 
from  our  District,  a  small,  dark-eyed,  nervous-looking  man, 
about  the  size  of  Aaron  Burr,  and  of  our  senator  Pel  en  Sprague, 
and  somewhat  resembling  both,  came  up.  and  we  were  intro 
duced  to  each  other  by  Smith.  I  did  not  hear  the  stranger's 
name,  but  he  started,  when  he  heard  mine,  and  asked  if  he  had 
rightly  understood  it  :  on  being  assured  that  he  had,  he  turned 
to  me  and  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  owed  every 
thing  in  the  world  to  me.  I  thought  the  man  beside  himself; 
and  though  I  saw  that  he  was  treated  with  uncommon  defer 
ence  by  the  members,  it  was  not  until  he  had  finished  the  inter- 
\7iew,  that  I  found  it  was  Mr.  Xaylor,  M.C..  from  Philadelphia, 
whose  letter  about  the  East-Room  had  produced  such  a  sensa 
tion  throughout  the  whole  country.  "  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I 
know  your  '  Niagara  '  by  heart,  and  I  could  repeat  whole  pages 
of  it  now  :  "  and  he  went  on  repeating  passage  after  passage, 
till  I  stopped  him  ;  for  myself,  I  must  acknowledge  that  I 
could  not  then,  nor  can  I  now,  repeat  as  many  lines. 

"  And  now  let  me  tell  you."  he  added,  "  how  you  have  been 
the  making  of  me.  When  I  was  a  poor  little  barefooted  boy, 
somebody  gave  me  a  'leven  penny  bit,  and  1  started  off  down- 
street  to  spend  the  money,  as  usual.  In  passing  a  book-stall, 
I  stopped,  and  the  first  thing  I  took  up  was  the  4  Battle  of 
Niagara.'  I  opened  at  the  preface,  began  reading,  and  was 
so  utterly  carried  away  by  it,  that  I  bought  the  book,  and  went 
home  and  studied  it.  If  the  author  of  that  poem,  said 
I  to  -myself,  could  do  what  he  has  done  here,  under  so  many 

17 


258  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

disadvantages,  why  cannot  I?  I  will!  And  from  that  mo 
ment,"  said  he,  "  you  were  my  inspiration,  and  for  all  that  I 
now  am,  and  all  I  hope  to  be  hereafter,  I  am  indebted  to  you," 
&c.,  &c.  Of  course,  I  had  little  or  nothing  to  say ;  and  we 
parted,  never  to  meet  again. 

But  something  still  stranger  just  occurs  to  me.  One  even 
ing,  at  the  hotel,  in  Washington,  where  my  daughter  and  I 
were  staying,  a  tall  gentlemanly-looking  fellow,  the  gallant  and 
eccentric  Colonel  Baker,  of  Illinois,  who  perished  so  deplorably 
in  the  late  war,  at  the  head  of  his  fiery  legions,  came  up  to  me 
and  introduced  himself,  by  saying  that  he  was  indebted  to  me 
for  his  election.  "  How  so  ?  "  I  asked.  **  Well,"  said  he,  *•  I 
stumped  the  state  with  your  ;  Fierce  Gray  Bird,'  for  a  banner 

—  the   American  Eagle  —  and  carried  all  before    me  !  "     I 
bowed.     There  was  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  however, 
when  he  said  this,   which  betokened   something  in  reserve. 
After  a  short  pause,  he  added,  "  But  the  next  time,  I  lost  my 
election  by  your  confounded  Eagle."     I  laughed,  and  asked  him 
how  it  happened.     "  Why,"  said  he,  "  my  opponent  had  the 
first  goings-in,  and  when  he  opened  with  the  '  American  Eagle,' 
which  of  right  belonged  to  me  "  —  "  As  the  first  discoverer  ?  " 
I  suggested.     "  Good  !  "  he  replied,  —  "  I  called  it  a  buzzard 

—  a  turkey -buzzard  —  and  lost  my  election"  I  laughed  heartily 

—  for  what  else  could  I  do  ?  —  and  then  assured  him  that  he 
was  not  far  out  of  the  way,  in  calling  it  a  buzzard,  for.  being  no 
naturalist,  at  the  time  I  wrote  the  "  Fierce  Gray  Bird,"  I  gave 
Ler  — 

"  A  collar  of  gleaming  hair,  — 
Around  a  neck  that  was  writhing  and  bare" 

without  a  suspicion  that  I  was  palming  off  upon  the  good-na 
tured  public  a  vulture,  instead  of  an  eagle.  It  was  now  his 
turn  to  laugh,  and  he  promised  me,  before  we  separated,  to 
remember  what  I  had  told  him,  and  make  use  of  it.  from  the 
Author,  on  the  first  proper  occasion  !  And  he  kept  his  prom 
ise,  I  dare  say ;  for  he  was  a  roguish,  ready,  and  captivating 
speaker,  full  of  quiet,  playful  sarcasm,  and  natural  archness. 
But  why  need  I  feel  mortified  at  the  blunder?  I  do  not:  I 
never  did ;  for  hadn't  "  poor  dear  Byron  "  got  aground  in  the 
same  way,  or  rather  got  beyond  his  depth  in  the  same  way, 


PLEASANTRIES.  259 

when  he  ascribed  to  the  "  bloody  beak  "  of  his  bird  —  a  bird 
of  prey —  the  function  of  talons  ? 

And  here,  just  here,  I  ain  reminded  of  something  worse,  and 
much  harder  to  bear.  A  fellow  in  Salem,  who  had  charge  of 
the  high-school  there,  published  a  handsome  school-reader 
in  which,  without  saying,  "  By  your  leave,"  he  stirred  up 
my  "  Fierce  Gray  Bird,"  to  some  purpose  ;  for  he  had  the 
folly,  and,  I  may  as  well  say  it,  the  presumption,  to  change  the 
first  line,  "  There's  a  tierce  gray  Bird,  with  a  bending  beak," 
into  "  There's  a  laid  bold  Bird,  with  a  bending  beak  '' '.  —  which 
well  deserved  to  be  called  a  litter-a.-tioi\.  Poor  fellow  !  His 
name  was  Northam,  and  as  he  did  it  for  notoriety,  I  am  disposed 
to  gratify  him.  Let  me  mention  here,  while  I  think  of  it,  that 
my  American  Eagle  was  lauched  like  a  thunderbolt,  as  the 
<;  Fierce  Gray  Bird,"  and  u  Proud  Bird  of  the  Cliff,"  long  be 
fore  Drake's  magnificent  poem  appeared,  which  has  been  so 
well  received  ;  of  this.  I  feel  quite  sure,  though  I  cannot  stop 
to  verify  the  fact  bv  date,  just  now. 

The  pleasantry  of  Colonel  Baker,  by  the  way,  is  only  to  be 
matched,  in  my  experience,  by  something  which  happened  to 
me  in  Boston,  during  the  Harrison-campaign.  The  city  was 
over-crowded,  all  the  public  houses  were  crammed.  I  was  a 
delegate.  On  my  return  from  the  great  Bunker-Hill  celebra 
tion,  it  rained  cats  and  dogs.  Mr.  Moses  Kimball,  of  the 
Museum  and  late  Mayor  of  Boston  —  almost  —  picked  me  up 
on  the  highway,  all  sopping  wet,  and  took  me  home  to  din 
ner.  Just  before  we  sat  down,  he  led  me  up  to  his  library, 
and  took  down  a  tattered,  dirty -looking  book,  the  dog 
eared  leaves  hardly  kept  in  place  by  the  cover,  so  much  had 
it  been  used.  It  was  the  first  volume  of  ik  Keep  Cool."  After 
I  had  sufficiently  admired  it.  he  reached  up,  and  took  down 
the  second  volume,  which  appeared  quite  new  and  fresh.  I 
hope  he  enjoyed  the  joke  as  much  as  I  did.  I  only  know  that 
my  appetite  was  undisturbed,  so  that  if  he  had  another  object 
in  view,  he  must  have  been  a  little  disappointed.  My  notion 
was,  that  he  had  been  pairing  off  at  the  book-stalls,  from  odd 
volumes  ;  both  being  odd  enough  to  match  any  thing,  for  the 
matter  of  that.  But  to  return. 

u  Whar'  ye  gangin',  Sawney?"  said  a  man  to  a  fellow  he 
found  creeping  through  his  hedge.  4'  Bock  ayen"  was  the 


260  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS.  V 

reply  ;  and,  in  the  same  spirit  of  humble  acquiescence,  I  say, 
"Bock  acjen" 

While  thus  engaged  for  u  Blackwood,"  the  "  Xew-Moirthly," 
and  other  magazines.  I  took  regular  lessons  in  fencing, 
sparring,  and  horsemanship,  with  a  new  set  of  masters  ;  pre 
pared  another  story,  which  appeared  long  after  in  this  country 
under  the  title  of  '•  Authorship  :  "  a  very  favorable  review  of 
which,  and  of  "  Rachel  Dyer,"  too,  in  the  same  article,  I  lighted 
upon  but  yesterday,  by  the  merest  accident,  in  the  "English 
man's  Magazine,"  for  April,  1831,  while  rummaging  among 
some  old  papers. 

But  I  have  not  quite  finished  my  account  of  the  head-flaws 
and  mishaps  I  had  to  encounter,  while  working  my  passage, 
through  the  straits  of  magazine  literature. 

While  engaged  in  retranslating  Dumont's  "  Morals  and 
Legislation  "  into  English,  for  Mr.  Bentham,  he  urged  me  so 
earnestly  and  vehemently  to  write  for  the  "  Oriental  Herald," 
and  the  "  Westminster,"  both  quarterlies,  that  J  consented. 
From  Buckingham,  the  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  "  Herald," 
who  had  been  driven  out  of  India  by  the  Governor-General, 
and  hunted  from  pillar  to  post,  I  got  nothing  but  thanks  ; 
from  the  "  Westminster,"  still  worse  pay ;  for  although  I  was 
compensated  with  a  fair  allowance  of  gold,  it  was  after  having 
been  grossly  cheated,  and  made  to  say  things  that  had  never 
entered  my  head,  by  alterations  of  the  manuscript,  after  I  had 
corrected  the  proofs  ;  and  to  express  opinions  both  false  and 
foolish,  about  our  American  oratory.  For  example  —  and 
for'  this  insolent  interpolation,  I  was  indebted  to  Dr.  John 
Bowring,  now  Sir  John  Bowring,  the  principal  editor,  though 
Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill  had  a  finger  in  the  pie ;  for  I  saw  two 
or  three  marginal  notes  of  his,  and  charged  4iim  with  having  a 
hand  in  the  pitiful  trick,  but  he  denied  all  participation  —  I 
was  made  to  say,  that  our  oratory,  after  I  had  been  citing 
Webster  and  Everett,  and  giving  passages  from  Sprague's  ora 
tion,  was  the  exhibition  of  a  strolling  Thespian,  compared  with 
the  calm  and  beautiful  style  of  English  speakers  !  I  do  not 
give  the  exact  language,  but  will  by  and  by. 

It  was  in  this  article,  which  appeared  Jan.  7,  1820,  in  the 
"  Westminster  Review,"  under  the  title  of  "United  States,"  that 
I  first  assailed  our  preposterous  militia-system,  for  its  injustice 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  26^ 

and  absurdity  ;  following  it  up,  after  rny  return  to  America, 
with  such  success,  that  it  soon  disappeared,  and  for  ever. 
And  hereftoo,  I  proposed  a  plan  for  uprooting  slavery  in  the 
laud,  without  v  ink-net-  or  wrong,  and  in  such  a  way  as  would 
be  certain  to  secure  the-  co-operation  of  the  slaveholders  them 
selves.  The  scheme  was  nor  only  just  and  generous,  but 
reasonable,  and  the  best  —  I  say  it  now  and  hero,  without 
qualification  or  misgiving  —  the  very  best  that  was  ever  sug 
gested,  up  to  the  day  when  the  decree  went  forth  from  the 
Presidential  mansion,  as  from  another  Sinai. 

"  And  blasts  of  unseen  trumpets,  lout;  and  loud, 
Swelled  by  the  breath  of  whirlwinds,  rent  the  cloud." 

4 

In  short,  I  was  wronged  and  betrayed,  and  never  wrote 
another  page  for  the  "  Westminster,''  till  J  reviewed  "  Politico,," 
of  which  a  word  or  two  hereafter.  lint  stay  ! 

A  number  of  amusing  incidents  have  just  occurred  to  me; 
and  lest  I  may  forget  them  in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  composi 
tion,  we  may  as  well  have  them  up  now,  all  hot,  with  their 
newest  flavor. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  was,  that  I  learned  skating  on 
the  little  river  of  St.  James's  Park  ;  and  that,  in  a  few  hours 
at  most.  My  lirst  and  last  essays  in  that  direction,  at  home, 
had  been  accomplished,  at  the  a  ire  of  ten  perhaps,  on  one  foot 
only  —  one  foot,  shod  with  a  piece  of  rusty  iron  hoop  —  when, 
having  no  ice  in  the  neighborhood,  I  had  to  put  up  with  a 
u  glittering  generality."  as  we  politicians  would  call  it :  a  smooth, 
shining  crust,  after  a  heavy  rain,  following  a  snow-storm,  which 
had  lasted  a  long  while.  It  was  just  back  of  my  mother's  in 
Fish-Street,  now  Exchange-Street,  on  a  large  open  lot,  with 
apple-trees  here  and  there,  and  a  few  stumps  for  me  to  run  my 
head  against,  while  skating  on  one  foot,  or  sliding  on  a  level. 
Think  of  that  !  —  a  thorough-going  Down-Easter,  from  the  Dis 
trict  of  Maine,  at  the  age  of  thirty-one  or  two.  learning  to 
skate  in  London,  where  the  ice,  instead  of  being  quarried 
in  blocks  two  or  three  feet  square,  month  after  month,  and 
clear  as  ringing  crystal,  seems  to  be.  at  best,  but  a  puddle  of 
dirty  water  newly  skimmed  over,  and  covered  with  undulating 
wet  pasteboard. 

One  sabbath-day  —  Sunday  is  always  a  sabbath,  you  know, 


-02  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

with  a  New-Englauder  —  I  was  taking  a  stroll  with  Solicitor 
Parkes,  of  Birmingham,  author  of  a  capital  History  of 
the  Court  of  Chancery,  and  other  valuable  treatises  on  the 
metaphysics  of  law,  who  had  married  a  daughter  of  Dr. 
Priestley,  and  was  thought  a  dangerous  fellow,  on  account  of 
his  leaning  toward  republican  institutions ;  and  when  we 
reached  the  New-River,  we  found  it  frozen  over,  and  literally 
covered  with  parties  rushing  this  way  and  that,  in-  every 
direction,  often  half-leg  deep  in  water,  as  the  rotten  ice  yielded 
to  the  pressure,  and  disappeared,  like  a  wet  cloth,  only  to  rise 
again,  after  the  pressure  was  over,  with  a  slow  undulating 
motion,  as  if  held  together  by  something  underneath.  Several 
persons  had  gone  under  ;  others  had  been  fished  up,  we  were 
told,  by  a  member  of  the  Humane-Society ;  while  one  or  two 
had  been  drowned  outright,  and  others  were  still  missing.  I 
was  not  only  astonished,  but  horror-struck.  Nothing  would 
have  tempted  me  to  run  such  a  risk,  and  while  I  was  express 
ing  my  astonishment,  in  the  belief  that  my  friend  Parkes 
agreed  with  me  entirely  —  for  he  had  assented  to  all  I 
thought  proper  to  say  about  such  recklessness  and  folly;  such 
infatuation,  or  hallucination,  or  fool-hardiness,  call  it  what  you 
please  —  happening  to  turn  my  head,  after  a  short  silence,  I 
found  my  gentleman,  this  *'  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signior" 
of  the  law,  down  on  one  knee,  and  eagerly  strapping  on  a  pair 
of  skates  that  he  had  brought  with  him,  under  his  coat-tail; 
and  before  I  had  time  to  remonstrate  with  him,  as  he  deserved, 
he  was  off  and  away,  among  the  dead  men,  and  about  as  mad 
as  the  maddest.  Nevertheless,  I  must  acknowledge  that  he 
"  walked  the  water  like  a  thing  of  life  ;  "  and  though  I  shouldn't 
have  known  whether  he  was  wading,  or  skating,  or  floundering 
for  most  of  the  time,  and  that  he  came  out,  at  last,  without 
passing  through  the  hands  of  the  Humane-Society  ;  and  not  as 
if  he  had  been  fished  up,  through  a  special  Providence  even,  as 
others  were.  So  much  for  London  pastimes  in  the  dead  of 
winter,  when  the  people  fancy  they  are  amusing  themselves, 
like  hyperboreans  of  the  walrus,  or  the  seal  and  white-bear 
communities. 

A  slight  hurried  sketch  of  this  gentleman  may  not  be  amiss 
here.  He  was  about  five  and  thirty,  of  a  slender  spare  make, 
and  a  nervous-bilious  temperament,  with  a  countenance  full  of 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  263 

energy,  and  a  fine,  compact,  though  not  large  head.  A  letter 
of  his,  which  I  have  just  met  with,  while  rummaging  for  quite 
another  purpose,  among  the  little  I  have  left  from  the  great 
fire,  will  give  a  very  just  idea  of  the  man's  true  character. 

-DEAR  NEAL,  —  I  have  often  meditated  writing  you  a 
friendly  line  of  recollection  ;  but  my  Mammon,  mv  worldly 
craft,  engrosses  all  my  time.  I  have,  the  last  twelve  months, 
plunged  into  business,  out  of  which  I  shall  not  be  extricated, 
till  1  have  attained  the  maximum  of  independence — now  one 
figure  —  probably  to  be  carried,  by  avarice  and  ambition, 
from  figure  to  figure,  till  my  body  is  deposited  with  its  ances 
tral  procreators.  Thus  we  live  and  die.  I  dined  this  day 
fortnight  with  the  great  philosopher  in  Queen-Square  Place : 
talking  of  you,  and  the  "  Yankee,"  now  lvin<j;  on  the  table 
below  there,  brings  you  to  my  mind.  Let  me  have  a  line  to 
say  how,  where,  and  witli  what  objects,  you  are  on  the  crust 
of  the  earth.  Any  letters  or  parcels  will  find  me  by  any  oppor 
tunity,  to  my  brother  *  Samuel  Parkes,  Esq.,  Merchant,  Liver 
pool,  England.' 

"  I  send  you  my  chancery  history.  It  will  soon  appear  in 
another  edition  in  two  volumes.  The  public  and  the  critics 
must  carry  its  character,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  to  you. 

"In  great  haste,  yours  most  truly,  JOSEPH  PARKES. 

"Birmingham,  7  i'eb.  1829." 

"  The  '  Westminster '  is  revived,  but  consumptively,  in  a 
great  cabal.  Many  of  the  dons  retired  within  their  shells, 
disapproving  of  Bowring's  late  editorship.  I  regret  this.  I 
regret  the  cause.  My  only  anxiety,  however,  is  the  money  of 
the  admirable  old  philosopher" — meaning  Bentham,  whose 
pockets  had  been  drained,  year  after  year,  to  feed  Bowring,  as 
co-editor  with  Mr.  Southern,  and  then  as  editor  ;  the  great 
and  good  Bentham  being  fully  persuaded  by  the  former,  that 
lie  was  working  wonders  for  humanity  through  the  "  Westmin 
ster.''  while  he  was  bleeding  slowly  to  death,  drop  by  drop,  as 
Sinbad  the  sailor  might  have  done,  if  the  Old-Man  of  the  Sea 
had  thought  of  tapping  him  in  the  jugular,  after  he  was 
mounted. 

Speaking  of  vagabond  Englishmen,  I  may  as  well  get  a 


264  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

few  of  them  off  my  mind,  before  I  go  any  further.  One  day, 
in  passing  along  a  crowded  thoroughfare  1  came  full  butt  upon 
a  fellow,  who  had  swindled  us  (Pierpont,  Lord,  and  myself)  out 
of  some  thousands,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared,  as  if  the 
earth  had  opened,  and  swallowed  him  up  ;  and  I  dare  say  we 
then  wished  it  had.  For  six  or  eight  years,  we  had  lost  all 
trace  of  him.  The  highway  being  rather  inconvenient  for 
settling  such  questions,  as  were  likely  to  arise  between  us, 
I  took  his  address,  and  gave  him  mine,  he  promising  to  see  me 
at  my  lodgings  forthwith,  and  that  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  or 
heard  of  the  gentleman. 

A  brief  history  of  our  acquaintance  may  go  fur  to  justify 
what  I  have  said  heretofore,  and  still  mean  to  say,  as  long 
as  I  have  breath  in  my  body,  about  vagabond  Englishmen : 
exceptions  I  acknowledge  here,  and  once  for  all,  to  the  hun 
dreds  I  have  known  and  loved,  and  sincerely  respected,  both 
abroad  and  at  home,  for  their  manliness,  and  truth  and  gen 
erous  courtesy. 

My  partner  Lord,  while  we  were  in  business  at  Baltimore, 
had  got  acquainted  with  him  as  Frederick  Gray,  at  Niblo's, 
where  lie  dropped  in  occasionally,  to  dine  or  lunch.  He  was  a 
fine-looking  fellow,  six  feet  high,  broad-chested  and  well-pro 
portioned,  good-natured  to  a  fault,  acquainted  with  horses  and 
the  prize-ring,  and  a  capital  hand  for  large  business.  Being 
after  a  situation,  Lord  took  him  to  Baltimore,  and  gave  him  a 
berth  as  a  sort  of  understrapper,  at  very  low  wages,  .till  he 
could  do  something  for  himself  in  another  way.  After  a  few 
months,  finding  him  diligent,  active,  to  all  appearance  honest, 
and  well-acquainted  with  dry-goods,  we  held  a  council  of  war, 
and  at  last  concluded  to  set  him  up  in  business  for  himself,  as 
a  retailer  on  Market-Street. 

Soon  after  this,  a  half-brother  came  out,  bringing  with  him 
two  or  three  suits  of  clothes,  which  I  had  ordered  from  a 
London  tailor,  at  the  suggestion  of  Gray.  The  very  first 
morning  after  his  arrival,  the  young  man,  having  understood 
that  I  was  going  out  for  a  day's  shooting,  proposed  to  go  with 
me.  I  could  not  well  refuse,  knowing  what  a  privilege  it  is 
for  an  Englishman  to  carry  arms,  without  a  license,  taking 
with  him  a  poodle  or  terrier,  a  mastiff  or  a  bull-dog,  for  au 
thentication.  After  a  while,  happening  to  observe  his  legs, 


VAGABOND    ENGLISHMEN.  265 

as  I  saw  him  a  little  way  off,  clambering  over  a  rough  sort  of 
a  fence.  I  called  out  to  him  to  look  out,  or  he  would  want 
another  pair  of  trowsers  to  go  home  with.  He  said  nothing, 
but  kept  out  of  my  way.  leaving  me  to  wonder  if  it  was  quite 
the  thing  for  an  Englishman  to  go  after  birds,  in  a  fashionable 
suit  of  superfine  black  broadcloth.  After  a  while,  on  express 
ing  my  disappointment  that  only  one  suit  of  clothes  had 
reached  me,  and  especially  that  my  black  suit,  which  I  most 
wanted,  and  most  needed  in  fact,  had  never  appeared,  I  <xot 
a  hint  from  a  fellow-boarder  that  I  need  not  look  far,  to  find 
the  missing  suit.  It  was  even  so.  The  young  scamp  had 
appropriated  my  whole  suit  of  black,  on  coming  ashore,  that 
lie  might  make  a  favorable  impression,  while  looking  about  for 
a  berth  ;  and  not  having  any  other  clothes,  respectable  enough 
to  go  a  shooting  in,  had  been  obliged  to  appear  in  black.  What 
became  of  the  fellow,  I  do  not  remember  :  I  only  know  that 
after  his  big  brother  ran  away,  we  found  that  his  name  was 
not  Fred  Gray*  but  Joe  Gloccr*  and  that  the  two  rapscallions 
were  not  half-brothers,  but  full  brothers  ;  and  then  it  was 
that  a  mystery  was  explained,  which  had  long  puzzled  us. 
Two  or  three  times,  the  youngster  had  spoken  of  '•  our  Joe"  in 
such  a  way  as  to  lead  us  into  the  belief,  that  lie  was  growing 
rather  too  familiar,  considering  his  age  and  position ;  my 
partner  being  Joseph  Lord,  and  called  our  Joe  "  for  short." 
Alas  for  our  simplicity !  we  had  never  suspected  the  truth, 
till  both  birds  were  on  their  way  to  their  nest,  in  Norfolk, 
England. 

Here  we  have  two  more  bagged.  A  third  was  that  Sau- 
biere,  w7ho  did  us  out  of  a  retail-stock  in  Charleston,  S.C., 
a  low  actor,  I  verily  believe,  at  some  early  period  of  his  life, 
though  afterward  the  confidential  clerk  of  a  Mr.  Dayton, 
who  did  a  large  business  of  some  sort  in  Philadelphia,  before 
this  exceedingly  pleasant  gentleman  cut  loose  from  the  em 
ployment  of  a  book-keeper,  with  a  large  family  to  provide  for, 
and  took  to  the  highway,  without  exposing  himself  to  prose 
cution.  The  very  first  move  he  made  toward  acquaintance 
ought  to  have  put  me  upon  my  guard,  I  must  acknowledge ; 
but  I  wras  doing  a  large  business,  and  he  was  a  fellow-boarder, 
who  had  made  a  favorable  impression  on  both  of  my  part 
ners.  Passing  through  my  warehouse  one  day,  when  I  was 


266  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

out,  he  found  a  box  of  Irish  linens  on  tap  near  the  door, 
opened,  I  suppose,  to  show  their  jobbing  qualities.  And  what 
does  my  gentleman  do,  but  carry  off  a  whole  piece,  worth 
fifty  or  sixty  dollars,  for  his  wife  to  look  at ;  for  he  knew  we 
did  not  retail.  And  this  was  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  that 
piece.  Would  it  had  been  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  him ! 
It  might  have  saved  us  a  few  thousands,  at  least. 

And  now  for  number  four.  One  day,  when  I  was  lolling, 
half-awake,  in  my  office,  at  Baltimore,  over  some  dull  treatise 
of  law,  a  portly,  middle-aged  man,  of  rather  a  dignified  bear 
ing,  entered,  and  introduced  himself  to  me  as  an  English 
barrister.  I  forget  his  name  just  now,  but  he  wanted  pro 
fessional  advice,  and  soon  managed  to  let  me  know  —  inci 
dentally,  and  not  by  any  means  boastfully  —  that  Charles 
James  Fox  was  his  god-father,  and  that  he  had  left  England 
on  account  of  a  duel,  not  otherwise  worth  mentioning.  Soon 
after  this,  he  consulted  with  me  about  entering  upon  the  profes 
sion  at  Baltimore.  I  told  him  what  the  difficulties  were  :  he 
would  have  to  study  three  or  four  years,  I  forget  which,  with 
some  lawyer  of  the  Baltimore  bar.  "  All  right."  he  said : 
he  was  informed  and  fully  prepared  for  that  ;  and.  on  the 
whole,  thought  it  would  be  no  disadvantage  to  him,  as  he 
knew  very  little  of  American  law,  and,  he  might  have 
said,  nothing  at  all  of  English  law,  common  or  statute.  In 
short,  he  was  anxious  to  enter  with  me.  I  consented  ;  and 
he  went  to  work,  paying  me  two  hundred  dollars  to  begin 
with,  for  a  student's  fee. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  or  so,  I  found  that  he  had  mar 
ried  an  aged  spinster,  with  a  little  property,  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Havre-de- Grace,  and  was  actually  co 
habiting  with  two  servant  girls  —  sisters  —  at  the  same  time, 
under  his  own  roof,  all  three  occupying  the  same  bed.  Here 
our  acquaintance  ended,  and  the  gentleman  disappeared.  So 
much  for  number  four. 

One  other  case,  and  I  have  done  with  this  branch  of  vaga 
bond  natural  history  ;  vagabond  Englishmen,  after  all,  being 
but  few  in  comparison  with  the  numberless  vagabond  Amer 
icans  who  have  wronged,  betrayed,  or  cheated  me,  year  after 
year,  just  in  proportion  to  the  disinterested  sacrifices  I  have 
made  for  them,  ever  since  my  boyhood. 


BACK    AGAIN.  267 

After  my  return  to  Portland,  in  182G,  I  was  invited  to  join 
a  debating  club,  under  an  idea  that,  as  I  wrote  so  much,  and 
so  well,  I  must  be  a  capital  debater.  One  evening,  at  the 
old  city-hall,  a  question  was  sprung  upon  us  of  a  nature  to 
rouse  all  the  manhood  there  was  in  me.  and  I  made  a  very 
decent  speech  —  a  great  speech,  others  called  it.  I  was  fol 
lowed  bv  a  young  stranger,  an  Englishman,  with  a  little  of 
the  Yorkshire  twang,  who  took  the  same  vie\v  I  had  taken, 
and  manifested  a  good  degree  of  readiness  and  fluency,  with 
out  being  otherwise  remarkable  in  any  way.  After  the 
meeting  broke  up.  he  introduced  himself  to  me  as  a  Mr. 
Bovle.  from  Staffordshire,  I  think,  judging  bv  his  <jreat  famil 
iarity  with  the  manufactures  of  that  place,  the  potteries,  ike. 
lie  claimed  to  be  a  nephew  of  the  British  consul  at  New- 
York,  a  relation  of  Mrs.  Ilemans,  and.  after  a  little  further 
acquaintance,  a  kinsman  of  Lord  or  Lady  Byron.  lie  had 
belonged,  he  said,  to  a  debating  society  in  his  own  neigh 
borhood,  and  come  over  here  to  seek  his  fortune.  lie  wanted 
to  be  a  Ivtwyer,  believing  that  profession  to  be  the  best  for 
a  young  and  ambitious  temper.  .But  he  was  poor  and  friend 
less,  a  stranger  among  strangers,  and  how  should  he  maintain 
himself?  After  due  inquiries  at  New- York,  which  satisfied 
me  tip  to  a  certain  point,  and  1  did  not  think  it  my  business 
to  go  further,  I  took  him  as  a  student,  without  a  fee  ;  and 
feeling  a  special  sympathy  for  young  men.  who.  like  myself, 
had  to  make  their  own  way  through  the  world  without  help, 
it  mattered  little  in  what  business,  I  managed  to  put  him  in 
the  way  of  earning  his  bread,  by  the  manufacture  of  bone- 
black,  such  as  they  used  in  the  potteries.  In  a  little  time,  by 
his  apparent  frankness  and  plausibility,  he  managed  to  obtain 
of  my  personal  friends  a  full  cargo  of  bones,  which  he  took 
away  with  him  in  a  small  schooner,  for  Boston  or  New-York, 
without  having  paid  a  dollar  for  the  whole  ;  and  that  was 
the  last  I  ever  saw  of  him  until  many  years  had  gone  by, 
when,  happening  to  be  at  "Washington,  with  my  eldest 
daughter,  we  were  persuaded  to  attend  the  President's  levee, 
as  they  call  it.  While  promenading  the  East-Room,  with  a 
daughter  of  Judge  Parris  on  my  arm,  a  tall,  fine-looking 
stranger,  whom  I  did  not  recognize  at  first,  came  up  to  me, 
with  a  captivating  smile,  and  offered  his  hand,  while  wo 


268  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

were  literally  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  distinguished  men. 
One  look  was  enough.  I  refused  the  hand  he  offered,  and 
turned  away  without  speaking — to  the  astonishment,  I  dare 
say,  of  all  who  saw  the  procedure.  Not  satisfied  with  this, 
the  fellow  planted  himself  right  before  me ;  and,  as  the  circle 
began  to  enlarge,  demanded,  in  a  loud  voice,  what  I  meant 
by  refusing  his  hand.  I  answered  quietly,  though  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  all  the  bystanders,  whose  attention 
had  been  attracted  by  his  behavior,  "  Because  you  are  an 
impudent  scoundrel,  and  a  swindler."  If  a  thunderbolt  had 
fallen  in  our  midst,  the  people  about  me  could  not  have  ap 
peared  much  more  astonished.  What !  in  a  crowded  assem 
bly  at  the  Presidential  mansion,  and  in  the  presence  of  ladies, 
to  break  out  in  this  way  —  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing! 
"  You  will  hear  from  me,"  said  Mr.  Boyle,  turning  away  to 
hide  his  confusion,  and  nodding  toward  the  main  entrance, 
as  if  inviting  me  to  follow.  I  signified  my  assent;  and 
as  soon  as  I  had  resigned  the  care  of  his  daughter  to  Judge 
Parris,  I  followed  my  gentleman  to  the  door ;  but  he  was  not 
to  be  found.  On  returning  to  Brown's  Hotel,  however,  I 
found  him  waiting  for  me  at  the  bar.  The  moment  he  began 
to  speak,  I  said,  "  Sir,  I  shall  not  accept  any  apology,  or  ex 
planation,"  and  turned  away,  he  following  me  through  the 
darkest  part  of  the  passage,  and  muttering  that  he  had  no 
apology,  nor  explanation  to  offer.  As  he  was  larger,  and 
probably  much  heavier  than  I,  and  from  a  righting  region, 
I  must  acknowledge  that  I  expected  a  row,  and  was  prepared 
for  it.  But  instead  of  "  pitchin«i-in,"  he  withdrew  by  another 
door,  and  the  next  day  sent  me  a  message  by  a  servant,  say 
ing  that  the  blood  of  all  the  Boyles  demanded  satisfaction  ;  that 
he  was  bent  upon  being  avenged,  and  intimating  that  I  must 
prepare  for  a  personal  attack.  Whereupon,  having  shown 
the  missive  to  mv  friend,  Senator  Fessenden,  and  asked  him, 
in  playfulness,  to  be  my  second,  I  started  off,  to  walk  by  the 
lodgings  of  my  pleasant  adversary.  This  I  did  forthwith, 
passing  three  or  four  times  by  the  door  of  the  hotel  where 
he  intimated  that  he  was  to  be  found  —  at  least  until  his 
board-bill  should  be  due ;  but  I  never  saw  him  again,  poor 
fellow,  never,  —  and  have  not  heard  from,  nor  of  him,  from 
that  day  to  this.  But  enough.  These  are  but  samples  of 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  269 

what  I  have  had  to  endure  in  helping  others  —  like  Pelby, 
the  actor ;  Simmer  Lincoln  Fairh'eld,  the  poet ;  and  General 
Bratish.  Count  Eliovich,  the  Hungarian  refugee — both 
abroad  and  at  home  ;  the  simple  truth  being,  that  most  of  my 
quarrels  through  lite,  and  all  that  are  worth  remembering, 
have  been  in  the  defence,  or  for  the  help  of  others,  not  one  of 
whom,  by  the  way.  ever  thought  of  repaying  the  obligation, 
or  even  of  acknowledging  the  debt,  for  which  may  God  for 
give  them  as  freely  as  I  do  ! 


270  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN   SUBSTANTIAL  TRUTH,  AND 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL  TRUTH. 

EXAMPLES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS;  MR.  JOHN  BOWRING,  BEFORE  HE  WAS 
AN  LL.D.,  OR  KNIGHTED;  SKETCH  OF  HIS  CHARACTER,  FROM  LIKE, 
WITH  ANECDOTES;  "WESTMINSTER  REVIEW;"  HIS  CLEVERNESS,  AND 
CRAFT,  AND  SHORT-SIGHTEDNESS;  JEREMY  BENTHAM  ;  HOWRING'S  NO 
TIONS  OF  PATRONAGE;  HIS  BARGAINS  WITH  ME,  AND  THE  CONSE 
QUENCES;  SOLICITOR  PARKES:  SIR  ROWLAND  HILL:  MR.  BLACK,  OF  THE 
"MORNING  CHRONICLE;"  JOHN  STUART  MILL. 

DEC.  14.  1868.  —  If  you  think  it  an  easy  matter  to  tell  the 
truth,  my  friend,  just  try  it  for  once :  will  you  ?  I  do  not 
mean  substantial  truth,  but  circumstantial  truth  ;  for  there  is 
a  great  difference  between  the  two.  A  man  greatly  given  to 
bouncing,  or  to  poetical  embellishment,  once  consulted  a  friend 
about  the  best  way  of  breaking  off  the  habit.  After  due  con 
sideration,  his  friend  advised  him  to  begin  with  one  truth  a 
day.  If  you  desire  to  be  circumstantially  exact,  you  cannot 
do  better  than  to  follow  that  man's  example.  No  matter  how 
conscientious  you  are,  my  life  on  it,  you  cannot  tell,  the  same 
story  twice  alike  :  and  yet,  it  m  iy  be  substantially  true. 

Two  illustrations,  within  my  experience  —  and  I  might 
give  a  thousand,  I  dare  say,  if  I  had  the  particulars  reduced 
to  writing  —  may  serve  to  show  what  I  understand  to  be  the 
difference  between 'substantial,  and  circumstantial  truth. 

Not  long  ago,  eight  or  ten  years  perhaps,  I  wrote  a  maga 
zine-article,  which  had  something  to  do  with  coincidences ; 
and,  by  the  way,  this  reminds  me,  that  on  the  twenty-eighth 
of  November  last,  which  was  my  son's  birthday,  some  of  us 
happened  to  mention  it,  in  the  presence  of  our  two  next-door 
neighbors  —  one,  Mrs.  D.,  on  the  right;  and  the  other,  Mrs. 
S.,  on  the  left  —  when,  to  our  astonishment,  we  found  that 
they  also  were  born  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  November ;  all 
three  in  a  row,  therefore.  In  the  article  referred  to,  I  stated 


SUBSTANTIAL    AND    CIRCUMSTANTIAL    TRUTHS.          271 

that,  on  the  first  morning  after  my  arrival  in  London,  I  stopped 
to  look  at  some  letters  I  had  with  me.  near  the  bronze  eques 
trian  statue  of  Charles  I.,  at  Charing-Cross  :  that  I  selected  one 
addressed  to  Mr.  Charles  Toppan.  with  Messrs.  Perkins  and 
Co..  say  Xo.  481.  Fleet-Street,  having  business  with  Mr.  P. 
about  a  newly-invented  engine  of  prodigious  power.  As  I 
looked  up.  a  stranger  was  passing,  of  whom  I  inquired  the 
way  to  Fleet-Street.  "I  am  goinu'  that  way."  said  he.  "and 
will  show  you."  After  a  while,  he  stopped,  and  said,  '•  This 
is  Fleet-Street :  I  am  going  no  further.  What  number  do 
you  want  ?  "  —  '•  Number  481."  —  ••  This  is  481.  Whom  -are 
you  looking  for  ?  *'  —  "  Mr.  Charles  Toppan,  the  engraver,"  said 
J.  '•  That  is  my  name."  said  he.  Xow,  when  I  wrote  the 
article,  I  honestly  believed  I  was  telling  the  simple  truth,  as 
a  part  of  my  own  experience.  Judge  of  my  amazement, 
when  I  heard  from  my  daughter  in  New-York,  that  Mr.  Top- 
pan  had  mentioned  the  subject,  and  assured  her  that  the 
strange  coincidence  happened  not  to  rue,  but  to  Mr.  John 
Dunn  Hunter,  the  author  of  ••  Hunter's  Captivity  among  the 
Indians  !  M  I  low  are  we  to  explain  this,  supposing  Mr.  Toppan 
to  be  ri«rht.  and  I  wrong?  .  I  did  carry  a  letter  to  him  at  Mr. 
Perkins's,  or  to  Mr.  Perkins  himself.  I  did  take  my  letters 
out  to  look  at  them,  the  iirst  morning  after  my  arrival,  and  I 
did  this  near  the  statue  of  King  Charles,  at  Charing-Cross  ; 
and  I  did  personally  deliver  the  letter  to  Mr.  Toppan,  or  to 
31  r.  P.erkin>.  J  forget  which.  Hunter  had  lodgings  in  the 
same  hou<e  with  me.  in  Warwick-Street,  Pali-Mall.  Of 
course.  1  must  have  had  the  story  from  one  or  both  ;  and  when 
I  came  to  illustrate*  like  the  fellow  who  got  drunk  for  illustra 
tion,  while  his  brother  was  lecturing  on  temperance,  my  whole 
attention  was  fixed  on  the  main  point,  as  a  wonderful  coinci 
dence,  that  a  stranger,  among  a  population  of  more  than  a 
million,  should  accost  another  stranger  at  sight,  to  inquire  the 
wav,  and  find  him  to  be  the  very  man  he  wanted.  If  I  had 
only  Hunter's  word  to  rely  on.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  repeat 
the  story  :  but  Mr.  Toppan.  being  the  very  man  so  accosted, 
confirms  it  as  related.  Here  I  had  given  the  substantial  truth, 
which  was  all  I  undertook  to  do  ;  but  how  widely  I  had  wan 
dered  from  the  circumstantial  truth! 

I  know  of  nothing  to  be  compared  with  it,  except,  perhaps, 


272  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  solemn  declaration  of  Mr.  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  many 
times  repeated,  that  lie  had  never  used  the  language  ascribed 
to  him.  "-It  is  (/ — d  /tut."'  in  the  pulpit  —  it  being  an  old  story 
about  Rowland  Hill,  which  he  remembered  from  his  youth  ; 
while  a  cloud  of  witnesses  declare  as  solemnly,  that  they  heard 
him  with  their  own  ears  :  or  his  utter  forgetfulness,  and  posi 
tive  denial  of  what  he  had  done  a  little  time  before,  in,  his 
own  pulpit,  after  employing  ten  minutes  in  a  running  commen 
tary,  line  by  line,  of  a  hymn,  as  he  gave  it  out  —  according  to 
the  testimony  of  a  clergyman  present. 

But  the  second  illustration  is  yet  more  perplexing,  and 
shows,  in  a  still  stronger  light,  how  dangerous  it  may  be  for 
a  conscientious  man  to  depend  wholly  upon  his  memory  for 
particulars,  after  the  lapse  of  a  lifetime. 

Not  long  ago,  only  a  few  months  indeed,  in  giving  an 
account  of  our  painters,  for  the  "  Atlantic,"  I  had  occasion  to 
relate  ,a  diverting  incident,  which  occurred  to  the  younger 
Sully,  where  he  was  called  to  account  by  a  patron,  for  the  ill- 
fitting  of  a  coat  he  had  painted.  I  had  it  from  Sully's  own 
mouth,  immediately  after  his  return  from  Somerset-House, 
"  white  with  rage,"  and  I  thought  I  gave  it  circumstantially, 
and  almost  in  his  own  language ;  for  his  patron  said,  as  I  dis 
tinctly  remembered,  "  Everybody  will  naturally  ask  who  made 
that  coat  ? "  "  Well,  sir,  and  what  then  ? "  said  Sully. 
"  Why,  sir,  I  made  that  coat." 

Judge  of  my  astonishment,  when,  two  or  three  weeks  after 
writing  this  article,  and  after  it  was  in  type  indeed,  happening 
to  be  tumbling  over  some  old  magazines,  I  came  upon  what 
was  meant  for  the  same  "story,  written  by  me  in  August,  1826, 
for  a  London  monthly,  while  the  circumstances  were  all  fresh 
in  my  recollection.  There  it  was  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
whose  coat  had  been  misrepresented  by  the  painter ;  and  the 
painter  was  not  Mr.  Robert  M.  Sully,  but  Sir  William 
Beechy !  And  yet  the  story,  as  told  then,  and  as  I  tell  it 
now,  was  substantially  the  same,  though  circumstantially  dif 
fering,  in  the  narration.  Let  this  be  a  warning  to  narrators, 
lest  they  become  at  last  mere  story-tellers,  where  they  have 
no  idea  of  embellishing,  or  misrepresenting  the  facts,  for  any 
body's  amusement. 

As  told  in  the  "  British  Magazine,"  out  of  Sully's  "  own 


SUBSTANTIAL    AND    CIRCUMSTANTIAL    TRUTHS.          273 

mouth,"  it  runs  thus:  '•  Mr.  R.  S.  was  employed  to  paint  a 
portrait  tor  a  man.  who.  when  it  was  done,  declared  himself 
delighted  with  every  part  of  the  picture,  save  and  except  one 
shoulder  of  the  coat,  which  did  not  n't  smoothly  —  I  beg  his 
pardon  —  wasn't  •  a  good  fit.'  '  Excuse  me,  sir.'  said  he.  •  I 
never  shall  forget  the  mortification  I  felt  on  iroing  to  the 
Somerset-House  Exhibition,  some  years  au-o.  The  first  pic 
ture  I  saw  was  a  picture  of  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  by  Sir  William  Beechv.  It  was  a  capital 
likeness  —  capital  —  never  saw  a  better  ;  but.  sir  —  would  von 
believe  it? — there  was  a  wrinkle  in  the  coat,  sir — just  here, 
sir — just  under  the  collar.  I  couldn't  take  my  eyes  off  it, 
sir  —  a  perfect  eyesore.  I  would  rather  have  given  twenty 
guineas  than  see  it  in  such  a  state.'  'Ah!'  said  Sullv,  'ah! 
why  so?' —  •  Why.  sir.  everybody  would  naturally  ask  who 
made  that  coat.1  —  'Well,  and  what  then?''  —  'Why,  sir,  I 
made  that  coat.'  —  •  You  ?  '  •—  '  Yes  :  I  —  I  made  that  very 
coat,  sir.' '' 

And  now,  if  I  had  the  article  I  wrote  for  the  '•  Atlantic  " 
before  me.  I  would  copy  the  passage  purporting  to  give  the 
same  incident,  as  if  under  oath  :  but  although  it  is  in  type, 
and  the  first  part  was  printed  two  months  ago.  in  the  Novem 
ber  issue,  it  will  not  appear  till  March  next,  and  is  therefore 
beyond  my  reach.  I  am  sure  it  would  go  far  to  reconcile  us 
to  variations  and  discrepancies,  if  not  to  downright  contradic 
tions,  in  testimony  :  though,  as  I  have  said  before,  the  main 
fact  is  never  lost  sight  of,  and  the  essentials  are  true,  in  both 
cases,  according  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief. 

And  now  for  another  subject.  Among  the  most  remarkable 
men  I  met  with  about  this  time  —  remarkable  in  a  small  way 
—  was  Mr.  .John  Bo  wring,  afterward  Dr.  Bowring,  and  now 
Sir  John  Bowring,  the  busiest  of  busybodies,  and  the 
slipperiest.  We  met.  I  hardly  know  how,  at  the  table  of 
Jeremy  Bentham.  the  philosopher  of  Queen-Square  Place  ; 
and  he  being  a  poet.  '•  bekase —  he  kivered  his  head  with 
green  baize."  like  Tom  Moore's  tailor,  and  chief  editor  of 
the  k>  Westminster  Review,"  Southern  being  the  understrap 
per,  and  having  charge  of  the  ••  London  Magazine,"  for  which 
I  also  wrote,  I  took  rather  a  fancy  to  him.  lie  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  chatterbox,  to  be  sure  :  but  then  he  had  a  refined, in- 

18 


274  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

tellectual  face,  a  very  pleasant  manner,  and  just  enough  of 
modest  pretension,  to  make  him  an  agreeable  companion. 
We  got  to  be  rather  intimate,  before  the  season  of  good- 
fellowship  was  over,  and  at  the  desire  of  Mr.  Bentham  —  "  at 
the  special  instance  and  request  of  Mr.  Bentham,"  I  might 
say,  in  the  language  of  the  law  —  I  "  undertook,  and  promised 
to  "  —  write  an  article  for  the  "  Westminster."  I  did  so,  and 
it  appeared  January,  182G,  upon  the  "United  States  of 
America."  But  after  I  had  corrected  the  proof,  my  amiable 
friend  interpolated  two  or  three  heterogeneous  paragraphs, 
without  consulting  me,  and  without  my  knowledge,  for  a  long 
time ;  one  of  which  was  not  only  insolent  and  offensive,  but 
absurdly  opposed  to  all  my  known  views  and  opinions.  In 
speaking  of  certain  orations  by  Webster  and  Everett  and 
Sprague,  I  had  been  careful  not  to  overpraise  ;  but  the 
doctor,  wishing  to  appear  very  familiar  with  Americans  and 
American  literature,  chose  to  interpolate  the  following  pas 
sage  in  this  my  vindication  of  American  writers,  where  it 
should  pass  for  the  admission  of  a  native  American  ;  in  other 
words,  to  personate,  and  misrepresent  the  author.  k'  Violent 
exaggeration/'  said  Mr.  John  Bowring,  %<  is  the  character  of 
American  literature  at  the  present  day.  and.  compared  with 
the  chaster  and  more  rational  style  of  our  best  writers,  the 
style  of  the  North-American  authors  is  usually  the  rant  and  un 
meaning  vehemence  of  a  strolling  Thespian,  u'hen  placed  beside 
the  calm,  appropriate,  and  expressive  delivery  of  an  accom 
plished  actor.'''  A  pretty  thing  for  me  to  say  of  my  leading 
fellow-countrymen  !  —  and  a  source  of  cruel  misapprehension,  to 
say  nothing  of  misrepresentation,  by  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hun 
dred  newspapers,  year  after  year ;  till,  taking  the  matter  in  hand 
seriously,  I  put  a  stop  to  it,  after  my  return  to  Portland. 
But,  passing  over  the  confusion  of  thought  in  the  passage 
referred  to,  where  the  gentleman  begins  with  American 
literature,  and  finishes  with  American  oratory  —  now  dis 
paraging  our  writers,  and  now  comparing  the  delivery  of  our 
strolling  Thespians  with  that  of  accomplished  actors,  by  way 
of  illustration  ;  for  what  knew  Dr.  John  Bowring  of  the  "  rant " 
and  "  vehemence  "  he  complains  of,  in  our  writers,  and  what 
of  their  delivery  ?  —  he  had  never  been  in  America,  and, 
probably  had  never  heard  even  an  after-dinner  speech  from  an 
American. 


SUBSTANTIAL    AND    CIRCUMSTANTIAL    TRUTHS.         275 

Bear  in  mind  that  I  had  gone  over  to  England  to  take  up 
the  ga^e  of  battle,  offered  by  the  arrogant  and  supercilious 
writers  of  England  ;  to  answer  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  i'ace 
to  face,  where  it  ventured  to  say.  "  that  eloquence  and  the 
power  of  fine  writing  were  denied  by  nature  to  the  American 
race,  and  that  they  have  a  little  Latin  whipped  into  them  at 
school  in  their  youth,  and  read  Shakspeare,  Pope,  and  Milton, 
as  well  as  bad  English  novels"  —  that  they  do,  and  have 
always  done  ;  but  there  seems  to  be  no  help  for  it,  until  we 
have  some  respect  for  ourselves  — k%  in  the  days  of  courtship 
and  leisure." 

And  yet,  such  being  my  errand,  or  mission,  if  you  will,  this 
meddling,  gossipping,  sly,  and  treacherous  man,  had  the 
audacity  to  put  words  into  my  mouth,  not  only  in  fiat  contra 
diction  to  what  I  said,  but  in  direct  confirmation  of  what  his 
unprincipled  countrymen  had  said  of  us  !  How  could  he  do 
this,  and  "  hope  to  be  forgiven  "  ? 

Meanwhile,  the  gentleman  had  involved  me  in  two  other 
unpleasant  scrapes,  owing  to  my  unreasonable  confidence  in 
his  professions  and  assurances  ;  but,  before  I  enter  into  fur 
ther  details,  allow  me  to  give  a  sketch  of  his  personal  appear 
ance,  taken  from  life,  and  published  in  "  Timothy  Flint's 
Monthly,"  for  November,  1833.  *•  Dr.  John  Bowring  is  not 
far  from  forty-six  " —  under  forty,  therefore,  when  I  knew 
him,  and  if  now  living,  nearly  fourscore  —  "about  five  feet 
nine  inches  high,  of  a  slender  make,  with  one  of  the  most 
poetical  faces  you  ever  saw  ;  a  capital  forehead,  lofty,  trans 
parent,  ample,  and  serene ;  a  clear  sharp  nose,  with  a  chin 
sufficiently  characteristic,  though  not  by  any  means  remark 
able  ;  a  pleasant  mouth  :  and  eyes,  which,  in  spite  of  his 
golden  spectacles,  and  the  distortion  caused  by  their  long  use, 
are  capable  of  being  lighted  up,  as  with  inward  fire.  Add  to 
this,  that  his  complexion  is  light,  and  his  hair,  if  we  may  trust 
our  memory,  dark-brown,  approaching  black,  and  sprinkled 
with  gray,  and  you  have  all  that  we  can  remember  of  the 
outward  man  "  ;  with  a  general  air  of  refinement  and  sensi 
bility,  though  not  of  high-breeding,  I  might  have  added,  to 
complete  the  likeness. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Dr.  Bowring,  though  I  had 
always  known  him  by  reputation,  after  his  translations  from 


27G  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  Russ  and  Polish  had  appeared,  and  had  long  wished  to 
see  him,  was  at  the  Argyle-Rooms.  London.  We  were  both 
listening  to  a  series  of  lectures  in  Spanish,  French,  German, 
and  Italian,  by  expatriated  natives,  introductory  to  a  course  in 
the  several  languages  mentioned,  upon  the  literature  of  their 
respective  countries.  There  were  perhaps  fifty  other  listeners, 
not  more ;  though  I  believe  the  introductories  were  all 
gratuitous.  And  this  happened  in  the  huge  metropolis  of 
the  British  empire,  at  a  time  of  great  public  sympathy  for 
the  sufferings  and  sacrifices  of  the  many  distinguished  men  — 
outcasts  —  who  had  been  scattered  by  the  convulsions  of 
Europe  over  earth  and  sea ;  and  after  the  patronage  of  John 
Bowring,  Esq.,  had  been  secured  ;  the  chief  linguist  of  the  age, 
according  to  the  newspapers  —  a  laughable  mistake,  at  the 
best,  —  and  as  these  poc  "*  strangers  had  been  made  to  believe, 
by  certain  publishers,  of  prodigious  influence  and  elevated  posi 
tion,  among  the  titled,  the  literary,  and  fashionable,  if  not  in  the 
commercial  world  ;  his  position  there,  as  a  dealer  in  French 
wines,  having  been  forfeited,  by  a  questionable  failure  in  busi 
ness.  One  by  one,  they  had  arrived,  like  so  many  conspirators, 
at  the  place  of  meeting ;  and  most  of  them  were  consigned 
to  him,  only  to  be  disappointed,  deceived,  and  betrayed.  At 
the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Bowring,  who  meant  well  enough,  but 
wanted  the  courage  to  deal  honestly  with  them,  they  were  in 
duced  to  club  together,  and  invest  their  little  all  —  their 
pocket-money  —  in  one  foolish  experiment  after  another,  till 
they  had  nothing  left,  not  even  hope  ;  and  were  finally  rescued 
from  absolute  starvation j  by  a  dress-ball,  given  at  the  Opera, 
House,  under  the  patronage,  not  of  John  Bowring,  Esq.,  but  of 
the  Duke  of  Sussex,  and  some  others.  With  that,  Mr.  B.  had 
nothing  to  do,  beyond  appearing,  radical  though  he  was,  in 
a  regular  built  court-dress,  and  dodging  about  hither  and 
thither,  like  a  will  o'  the  wisp,  and  emphatically  announcing 
the  names  of  here  and  there  a  nobleman,  to  here  and  there  a 
commoner,  as  he  had  done  a  little  time  before,  at  the  Lord 
Mayor's  ball.  The  tickets  were  a  guinea,  and  there  were 
probably  four  thousand  persons  present,  without  reckoning 
J.  B.,  Esq.,  who,  like  the  Irishman's  spotted  pig,  kept  running 
about,  so  that  he  couldn't  well  be  counted. 

The  second  scheme  for  the  relief  of  such  men  as  Prati, 


DR.    BOWRING.  277 

an  Italian  advocate  and  fine  belles-lettres  scholar ;  the  canon 
Riego.  brother  of  the  great  Spanish  general,  Riego  :  Desprat, 
who  grave  up  his  pav  to  the  Spanish  Cortes  :  the  aide-de-camp 
of  Mina.  Castellanos.  if  my  memory  serves  me  :  Schnell, 
who  furnished  eloquent,  profound,  and  most  extraordinary 
papers  for  the  '•  Westminster."  on  Greek  literature  and  the 
Orations  of  Demosthenes,  in  English,  worthy  of  Jeremy 
Taylor  himself,  though  he  spoke  not  a  word  of  any  language 
but  German  ;  Rev.  the  jurisconsult  ;  Ugo  Foscolo.  whose 
papers  for  the  k*  Edinburgh  "  were  done  into  English  by  Mrs. 
Sarah  Austin,  afterward  so  greatly  distinguished ;  Carl 
Vb'lker,  the  gymnast,  whom  I  sent  to  this  country,  and 
others  —  the  second  scheme  was  to  set  up  a  private  institution, 
for  the  study  of  the  European  languages,  laws,  and  literature, 
in  copartnership,  which  turned  out  a  miserable  failure  ;  though 
it  led  to  the  establishment  of  the  London-University,  after 
renewed  loss,  mortification,  and  discouragement,  for  the  con 
spirators  and  refugees.  Of  all  the  schemes  projected  by 
John  Bowring.  E>q..  only  one  prospered,  and  that  only  for  a 
short  season.  Volker's  Gymnasium,  which  cost  —  not  John 
Bowring,  Esq.,  but  Jeremy  Bentham — about  seven  hundred 
pounds  sterling,  or  three  thousand  five  hundred  dollars. 
For  a  time,  and  so  long  as  the  gymnasium  flourished,  it  was 
Bowring's  plan,  and  sustained  by  Bowring's  patronage.  But 
when  it  i'ell  through  —  alas  for  the  kind-hearted,  over-credulous 
Bentham  !  — he  had  to  foot  the  bills. 

Since  the  foregoing  was  written,  I  have  lighted  on  a  record 
which  I  had  entirely  forgotten,  containing  what  follows,  in 
substance,  though  greatly  abridged.  It  gives  a  still  more  un 
sightly  appearance  to  some  of  the  transactions  complained  of. 

In  October,  18 20.  Mr.  Bentham  desired  me  to  write  a 
review  for  the  "  Westminster,"  of  a  work  then  just  published 
in  London,  a  presentation  copy  of  which  had  been  sent  by 
Lord  St.  Helens  to  General  Sir  Samuel  Bentham,  for  that 
purpose.  I  did  not  much  like  the  job.  having  had  enough  to 
do  with  Mr.  John  Bowring  and  Mr.  Henry  Southern,  the  two 
editors,  to  know  that  neither  was  to  be  trusted.  Neverthe 
less,  as  I  could  not  well  refuse  any  request  of  Mr.  Bentham, 
I  promised  to  read  the  book,  and  see  Bowring,  and  let  him 
understand  my  views  before  I  put  pen  to  paper  ;  and,  if  we 


278  WA* DELING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

agreed,  to  review  the  work.  I  did  so.  Mr.  Bowring  called  on 
me.  and  we  talked  the  matter  all  over.  He  assented  to  every 
thing,  promised  every  thing  ;  and  I  went  cheerfully  to  work, 
laying  out  materials  enough,  aud  taking  pains  enough,  to  pre 
pare  a  volume.  Still,  when  completed,  that  there  might  be 
no  after-claps,  nor  misunderstandings,  instead  of  sending  it  to 
him  iii  the  usual  way.  as  bargained  for,  I  sent  it  with  a  note, 
saying,  that  unless  it  could  be  published  as  written,  without 
material  alterations  and  omissions.  I  should  like  to  have  it  re 
turned.  Instead  of  replying  by  note,  Mr.  Bowring  called  on 
me  in  person,  and  expressed  great  satisfaction  with  the  paper, 
though  he  could  not  agree  with  me  in  my  view  of  Mr. 
Bentliam.  "Very  well."  said  I, after  a  hurried  recapitulation 
of  the  arguments  I  had  used,  no  one  of  which  he  understood, 
or  was  capable  of  understanding,  "  leave  out  the  whole  of 
that  passage."  Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Bentham  at  the  door :  "  All  I  ask  of  you,"  I  added,  "  is  not 
to  make  me  say.  as  yon  did  in  my  last  article,  what  is  con 
trary  to  my  opinion,  and  what  I  may  have  to  contradict  in 
some  other  journal/'  I  alluded  to  the  paper,  an  account  of 
which  you  will  find  on  page  274,  and  to  the  *•  Old  Monthly." 
"Oh.  no!  certainly  not,"  was  the  reply,  and  here  we 
parted  ;  the  condition  being  that  he  should  leave  out  all  I  had 
written  about  Mr.  Bentham's  view  of  a  double  legislative 
body.  Before  we  parted,  he  proposed  to  pay  for  the  paper ; 
and  I  consented  at  last  to  receive  about  fifty  dollars  on  ac 
count,  being  one-third  of  the  amount  promised. 

Dinner  over,  and  Mr.  Bowring  gone.  Mr.  Bentham,  with 
•whom  we  botli  dined  that  day.  not  having  understood  our 
conversation,  asked  what  the  matter  was.  I  told  him  ;  and, 
after  hearing  all  I  had  to  say  against  his  favorite  theory,  he 
replied  that  he  should  tell  Bowring  to  put  it  in  —  and  to  put 
it  in.  too.  in  my  own  language,  and  just  as  I  had  written  it. 
»4  All  he  wanted  was  fair-piny."  he  said  ;  "  and  what  he  wanted 
for  himself,  he  was  willing  to  grant  another.  If  I  was  right, 
he  would  be  glad  to  find  himself  in  error, "  —  a  pretty  thing 
to  say.  but  never  true  ;  —  "  if  otherwise,  to  publish  what  I  said 
might  lead  to  a  change  of  opinion  with  me." 

After  this.  I  had  another  talk  with  Mr.  Bowring,  who 
agreed  to  preserve  the  passage  with  some  such  introductory 


DR.    BO  WRING.  279 

observation  as  this  :  '•  TYe  have  heard  the  subject  stated  so  and 
so."  Here  the  matter  ended,  and  I  heard  nothing  more  of 
the  review  till  I  got  the  proof,  without  cojn/.  Judue  of  mv 
amazement,  when  I  found  that  Mr.  John  Bowring  had  not 
onlv  omitted  whole  paragraphs,  which  he  had  appeared  much 
pleased  with  in  conversation,  together  with  all  that  related 
to  the  examination  of  Mr.  Beutharn's  views  of  a  legislative 
bodv.  but  that  he  had  actually  taken  advantage  of  a  remark 
made  by  me,  to  introduce  an  opinion  directly  in  the  teeth  of 
mv  whole  argument,  and  whollv  at  war  with  fact  and  history 
—  an  opinion  that  nothing  but  his  extraordinary  ignorance 
of  the  subject  he  had  presumed  to  meddle  with,  could  excuse 
for  a  moment. 

I  could  not  bear  this,  and  I  told  Mr.  Bowring  so.  in  a 
brief  and  peremptory  note,  requiring  him  to  publish  the 
article  as  he  had  promised,  or  to  return  it  forthwith.  Ilis 
reply  was  so  altogether  in  character,  that  it  would  be  doing 
both  him  and  myself  injustice  not  to  publish  it  entire  :  — 

"•  DEAR  SIR.  —  I  have  not  seen  the  proof  of  your  article, 
so  you  must  not  understand  that  it  has  passed  through  my 
hands  in  the  way  it  will  have  to  stand.  I  meant  to  do  this 
after  you  had  seen  it.  and  I  had  received  your  observations 
upon  it.  You  do  not  say  how  I  have  made  you  say  the  con 
trary  of  what  you  did  say.  [Charming!  set//,  say,  srry.J 
The  W.  II.  must  speak  the  opinions  of  the  W.  Reviewer, 
and  not  the  opinions  of  any  individuals,  when  those  opinions 
differ  from  those  of  the  W.  R."  [But  who  the  plague  was 
W.  R.  ?  Had  the  W.  R.  any  opinions  upon  any  subject 
apart  from  J.  B.  or  II.  AY.?  said  I  to  myself.] 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  any  observations  of  yours  in 
writing  ;  but  should  your  opinion  differ  from  mine,  and  you 
be  unable  to  convince  me  that  mine  is  wrong,  it  must  be  my 
opinion  (which,  in  all  doubtful  cases.  I  wish  to  fortify  by  the 
best  warrant),  that  must  stand  —  at  least  in  the  W.  R. 

'•  Yours  ever,  J.  BOWRING." 

All  very  well,  if  he  had  not  promised  beforehand,  after 
reading  the  article  in  manuscript. 

To  this  I  replied  at  length ;   for  it  was  really  high  time  to 


280  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

teach  these  Quarterly  reviewers  that  I,  for  one,  was  not  in 
the  humor  to  be  trifled  with.  To  show  something  of  the 
temper  in  which  it  was  written,  I  give  a  part:  — 

"  I  do  not  wish  the  '  Westminster  Review/  nor  the  editor 
of  the  *  Westminster  Review,'  to  be  answerable  for  my  opin 
ions.  Nor  will  I  be  answerable  for  the  opinions  of  the 
*  Westminster  Review,'  or  its  editor,  when  they  disagree 
with  mine,  especially  after  stipulating,  with  due  care,  that,  if 
the  article  I  wrote  for  the  W.  R.  could  not  be  published  with 
out  material  alterations  or  omissions,  it  should  be  returned 
to  me ;  and  yet,  more  especially,  after  being  assured  that  if  a 
few  paragraphs,  about  which  we  could  not  agree,  were  not 
published  in  the  shape  I  gave  them,  they  should  be  omitted 
altogether,  and  not  published  in  a  contrary  sliape. 

"  You  cannot  be  surprised,  I  think,  at  what  I  have  said  to 
you  on  receiving  the  proof,  without  copy,  (see  P.S.),  of  an 
article  prepared  under  such  circumstances,  when  I  find,  that, 
after  all  my  care  in  stipulating  beforehand,  many  alterations 
and  omissions  have  occurred  —  some  that  are  unintelligible 
to  me,  and  some  that  would  be  unintelligible  to  anybody,  who 
knows  much  about  America,  or  who  had  ever  read  the  book 
under  review  ;  and  not  only  this,  but  that  an  opinion,  directly 
the  reverse  of  mine  upon  the  subject,  and  the  only  subject, 
upon  which  you  appeared  to  disagree  with  me,  has  been  substi 
tuted  for  my  opinion. 

"  You  say,  to  be  sure,  that  you  had  not  read  the  proof,  and 
that  I  must  not  understand  that  it  has  passed  through  your 
hands  in  the  way  it  will  have  to  stand ;  you  meant  to  do 
this,  after  I  had  read  it,  and  after  you  had  received  my 
observations  —  in  writing  —  upon  it:  by  all  which  it  would 
appear,  that,  after  I  have  written  a  paper  for  the  W.  R.,  which 
has  been  accepted  on  my  conditions,  and  after  the  editor  and 
I  have  agreed  together  concerning  it,  I  am  to  write  another 
paper  of  observations  upon  it,  if  I  receive  such  a  proof  that  I 
am  hardly  able  to  recognize  a  part  of  my  own  writing,  on 
account  of  the  changes  that  are  made,  not  in  words  or  phrase 
ology,  but  in  serious  thoughtful  opinions.  Thank  God,  I  have 
something  else  to  do." 

Postscript  referred  to  above.     My  note  ran  thus  :  — 


DR.    BOWHING.  281 

"  Q.  S.  P.  24th  Nov.,  1826. 

"DEAR  SIR. — After  all  my  guarded  ness  in  stipulating  with 
YOU  beforehand,  you  have  not  only  left  ont  the  passage  I  had 
agreed  to  have  eliminated,  but  you  have  left  out  one  or  two 
more  upon  which  my  conclusions  were  founded  —  conclusions 
which  would  appear  absurd,  or  not  intelligible,  to  those  who 
know  any  thing  about  the  matter,  if  they  were  unaccompanied 
with  the  process  of  proof:  and  you  have  not  only  done  this, 
but  you  have  actually  made  me  say  the  very  reverse  of  what  I 
did  say. 

'•  Really,  I  cannot  bear  this.  Will  you  send  me  the  copy  ? 
It  would  be  quite  impossible  for  me  to  correct  such  a  proof, 
were  it  otherwise  what  it  should  be,  without  a  copy. 

'•Yours,  &c.,  J.  N." 

But  I  must  defer  the  rest  of  my  story,  till  I  have  to  do  with 
Mr.  Jeffrey,  of  the  '•  Edinburgh  Review,"  on  the  same 
subject.  See  Chapter  XVII. 

Another  example  of  the  gentleman's  adroit  and  plausible 
management  occurred  in  the  getting  up  of  the  "•  Westminster 
Review/'  That  was  a  plan  of  John  Bo  wring,  Esq.,  to  insure 
himself  a  respectable  maintenance  for  life  ;  and  to  Mr. 
Bentham.  the  pleasure  of  providing  for  it.  After  it  had  been 
flourishing  several  years,  instead  of  there  being  a  balance  to 
the  credit  of  the  philosopher  of  Queen-Square  Place,  he 
found  himself  out  of  pocket  nearly  twenty  thousand  dollars. 
Yet  Mr.  Bowring  still  persisted  in  carrying  it  on,  for  the 
welfare  of  the  great  human  family,  the  ••  greatest  good  of  the 
greatest  number."  and  the  glory  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  till  he  or 
it  should  give  up  the  ghost. 

Since  then,  he  has  appeared  as  the  biographer  of  Jeremy 
Bentham  ;  and  among  the  pleasant  reminiscences  therein 
recorded,  I  find  two  or  three,  in  which  he  has  done  me  the 
honor  to  misrepresent,  or  falsify,  two  or  three  trivial  matters, 
not  worth  mentioning,  if  they  did  not  go  to  show  the  man's 
littleness  and  spite-fulness.  lie  makes  Mr.  Bentham  say  of 
me.  that  he  would  as  lief  have  a  rattlesnake  in  his  house  ; 
and  yet  we  were  alwavs  on  the  most  friendly  terms.  I  kept  a 
journal  of  his  sayings  and  doings,  at  his  own  request,  which 
was  published  in  ISoU,  by  Wells  and  Lilly,  under  the  title  of 


282  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Bentham's  Morals  and  Legislation  ; "  and  not  long  before  his 
death,  I  had,  and  still  have,  what  I  have  good  reason  for 
believing  was  the  last  private  letter  he  ever  wrote,  full  of 
kindness,  and  eminently  characteristic  of  the  philosopher. 
Again,  Bowring  says  of  my  novel,  u  Brother  Jonathan,"  that 
Bentham  declared  it  to  be  both  extravagant  and  improbable  — 
in  which,  he  was  not  far  out  of  the  way  —  if  he  had  said  pre 
posterous,  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  joke,  for  I  had  called  it 
so  myself,  though  I  am  far  from  being  ashamed  of  it,  as  a 
whole,  even  at  the  age  of  nearly  fourscore  —  and  that  the 
characters  were  such  as  never  existed.  Yet  Mr.  Bentham, 
who  used  to  doat  upon  "  Clarissa  Harlowe,"  and  ••  Pamela,"  and 
"  Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  the  novels  of  Richardson  in  from  six 
to  eight  volumes  apiece,  actually  had  read  to  him  by  his  two 
secretaries  in  turn,  night  after  night,  and  without  intermission, 
all  three  of  the  volumes  which  I  had  entitled  "  Brother 
Jonathan."  I  give  the  language  of  Mr.  Bentham's  biographer 
from  recollection  only,  not  having  the  book  itself  to  refer  to, 
and  never  having  seen  it  but  once,  and  then  for  a  few  minutes 
only,  in  the  Astor-Library.  Of  course,  therefore,  I  do  not 
believe  the  story,  as  told  by  Dr.  Bowring ;  the  last  letter  of 
Mr.  Bentham.  straightforward  and  affectionate  as  it  was.  being 
of  itself  a  flat  contradiction.  But  one  thing  which  the 
philosopher  said  of  me,  according  to  Dr.  Bowring,  may  be 
true ;  namely,  that  I  "  talked  upon  all  subjects  alike,  and  with 
equal  confidence."  This  sounds  like  Bentham.  and  certainly, 
with  some  qualifications,  might  be  taken  for  truth  :  for,  although 
I  never  chose  a  subject  for  discussion  with  Mr.  Bentham, 
except  on  one  occasion,  when  I  undertook  to  show  that  he  was 
no  atheist,  whatever  he  might  suppose  to  the  contrary,  and 
whatever  his  followers,  J.  S.  Mill  and  others,  might  be,  and 
all  our  talking  was  within  a  very  limited  range,  I  felt  bound 
to  maintain  my  opinions  with  confidence,  if  for  no  other 
reason,  certainly  for  this  :  that  he  was  surrounded  with  flatter 
ers,  among  whom  John  Bowring,  Esq.,  was  chief,  and  would 
not  bear  contradiction  from  anybody  but  me,  and  not  always 
from  me  ;  arid,  by  contradiction,  I  mean  not  contradiction  in 
terms,  but  a  decided  difference  of  opinion,  with  opposition  in 
argument.  More  than  once,  however,  we  succeeded  in  con 
vincing  each  other  ;  so  that  we  ended  the  discussion  by  chang 
ing  sides  ! 


JOIIX    BOWRING.    LL.I.).,    AND    JEREMY    BKXTIIAM.       283 

But  to  return.  It  happened  one  day,  that  I  was  dining 
with  the  philosopher,  when  a  letter  was  handed  in,  urging 
him  to  dictate  his  oioi  life  to  one  of  his  two  secretaries,  who 
should  he  enjoined  to  take  it  down,  faithfully  and  accurately, 
as  it  fell  from  their  great  master's  lips.  I  seconded  the  prayer 
of  the  writer,  who.  if  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  was  Mr.  So 
licitor  Parkes,  of  Birmingham,  author  of  the  "History  of  the 
Court  of  Chancery.''  already  mentioned  :  and  so  highly  com 
plimented  by  Lord  Chancellor  Brougham  —  or  Huiry  Broom, 
as  they  used  to  call  him,  after  the  (Queen's  trial  —  in  his 
great  speech  on  the  abuses  of  English  law  (all  a  rehash  of 
Bentham.  by  the  way).  Mr.  Bentham  refused,  saying  he  had 
no  time,  though  he  did  nothing  after  dinner,  beyond  listening 
to  ''  Brother  Jonathan,"  which  he  professed  to  like  very  much  ; 
and  Mim.  Doane,  the  favorite  secretary,  assured  me,  that, 
for  amusement,  he  would  often  read  the  same  page  over  and 
over  again,  till  he  found  the  philosopher  sound  asleep  in  his  bag  ; 
for  he  always  slept  in  a  bag.  which  lilted  him.  as  the  tailors 
say,  "  like  a.  sack."  But  soon  after  this.  I  understood  from 
both  secretaries  that  Mr.  Bowring  had  undertaken  to  devote 
two  whole  evenings  a  week  to  the  duty,  and  right  glad  were 
we  all  to  find  it  true.  Given  faithfully,  in  the  very  words  of 
Jeremv  Bentham.  unclassicalized  and  unimbellished.  it  would 
be  one  of  the  most  captivating  and  instructive  books  ever 
written  ;  but  given  as  it  was  by  his  biographer,  it  became  not 
only  worthless,  but  pitiable  ;  having  hardly  enough  of  Ben 
thamism  to  di>tin<_ruish  it,  from  Bowringism.  except  the  rattle 
snake  story,  which  was  altogether  Bowring. 

And  here  a  little  anecdote  occurs  to  me  ;  one  of  a  score  I 
might  mention  about  Bowring,  to  show7  the  warm-hearted,  oblig 
ing  temper  of  the  man.  preparatory  for  what  1  have  to  say  of 
my  own  experience  with  him.  A  gentleman  —  Mr  White, 
of  Battersea-Priory  —  happened  to  be  in  Paris  at  a  time  when 
Mr  Bowring  was  there,  who  had  managed,  by  his  meddling,  to 
get  himself  arrested  and  imprisoned,  for  a  conspirator.  A  con 
spirator  !  —  John  Bowring.  Esq.,  the  inoffensive,  translator  of 
Northern  Barbarisms  into  English,  a  conspirator  against  the 
peace  and  dignity  of  the  French  empire!  Keally.  it  was  too 
good  a  joke,  and  quite  of  a  piece  with  the  fright  of  Dennis  the 
critic,  when  he  fancied  every  sail  that  appeared,  a  French 


284  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

government-ship,  hovering  on  the  coast,  till  he  might  be  kid 
napped  and  carried  off :  or  with  the  nightmare  terrors  of  J. 
J.  Rousseau,  when  he  believed  all  Northern-Europe  to  be  up 
in  arms  for  his  capture.  But  so  it  was.  By  intermeddling  and 
chattering,  by  looking  mysterious  and  significant,  and  by  let 
ting  drop  now  and  then,  as  if  by  accident,  the  name  of 
certain  revolutionary  outcasts  in  England,  he  contrived  to 
get  himself  into  limbo,  or  captivated,  and  shut  up  in  prison  ; 
where  he  was  confoundedly  frightened,  and  out  of  which  he 
was  delivered  only  by  the  interposition  of  Mr.  Canning,  to 
whom  Mr.  Bentham  applied  for  the  purpose  ;  declaring  at  the 
time,  that  poor  Bowring  meant  no  harm ;  and  that,  if  they 
would  only  let  him  off.  he  would  never  do  so  again,  and  the 
Bourbons  might  stay  where  they  were,  and  be  hanged  to 
them! 

Mr.  White  had  employed  himself  in  collecting  pictures,  and 
was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  them,  as  Bowring  would  of  his  par 
odies,  for  originals.  Bowring  called  to  see  them  ;  saying  that 
he  knew  the  Due  d'Orleans  intimately,  and  saw  him  every 
day  ;  that  his  hotel  was  like  a  home  for  him,  that  he  would 
have  a  talk  with  "  the  due"  about  these  paintings,  and  that 
as  "  the  due"  was  building  a  picture-gallery  back  of  his  hotel 
at  the  time,  he  had  no  doubt  '•  the  due "  would  be  of  great 
service  to  Mr.  W.,  in  disposing  of  the  collection,  if  he  wished 
to  do  so.  A  week  or  two  went  by,  day  after  day,  and  no  Mr 

Bowring  appeared.  Mr  W.,  after  this,  met  the  Count , 

aide-de-camp  of  the  due  —  and,  in  the  course  of  conversation, 
made  some  inquiries  about  Mr  Bowring.  The  count  knew  no 
such  person  ;  and  as  he  was  always  about  the  due,  he  thought 
the  due  did  not.  Not  to  be  too  certain,  however,  he  would 
inquire.  He  did  so  ;  and  it  turned  out  that  the  due  had  never 
heard  the  name  of  Mr.  Bowring  !  This  I  ha.'  from  the  younger 
Sully,  who  had  it  directly  from  Mr.  White  himself.  But  the 
best  of  the  joke  was  the  idea  of  fastening  a  picture-gallery 
upon  the  Due  d'Orleans  —  the  very  last  of  the  whole  Bourbon 
race  to  indulge  in  a  tiling  of  the  sort;  a  man  who  went  about 
the  streets  of  Paris  at  the  time  referred  to,  as  a  private  citizen, 
quiet,  inobtrusive,  and  evidently  averse  to  all  show. 

And  now  for  a  word  or  two  of  my  own  experience  with  John 
Bowring,  Esq.,  LL.D.,  and  baronet.  Not  long  after  I  took 


JEREMY    BENTHAM.  285 

up  my  residence  with  Mr.  Bentham,  he  wanted  me  to  under 
take  what  half  a  dozen  others  had  severally  attempted,  and 
abandoned  in  despair,  after  a  brief  apprenticeship  :  that  is.  to 
prepare  for  publication  a  small  work  on  "  Judicial  Evidence," 
in  one  volume,  pieparatory  to  the  appearance  of  the  ureat 
work  in  five  volumes,  royal  octavo,  from  the  unreadable,  ten- 
times-culled,  and  refuse  notes  and  memoranda  of  Mr.  Bentham, 
since  moulded  into  shape  by  Mr.  John  Smart  Mill,  and  pub 
lished,  almost  without  change  or  substitution,  as  the  ••  Rationale 
of  Judicial  Evidence." 

Not  liking  to  spend  months  in  deciphering  the  terrible  manu 
script  of  Jeremy  Bentham.  and  quite  unwilling  to  sacrifice 
my  eye-sight  for  such  an  object,  I  refused,  until  assured  that 
one  of  the  secretaries  would  copy  the  whole  in  a  fair  hand, 
without  delay  :  that  I  should  be  at  liberty  to  abridge,  amend, 
transpose,  and  interpret  whatever  was  unintelligible,  at  my 
pleasure  ;  and  that  with  my  habits  of  steady  application,  and 
fast  writing.  I  should  be  able  to  iinish  it  in  six  or  eight  weeks, 
laboring  no  more  than  twelve  hours  a  day,  instead  of  six 
teen. 

But  long  before  that  time  had  expired,  and  before  I  had 
been  able  to  decipher  a  tenth  part  of  the  manuscript,  even  by 
the  help  of  the  translation,  or  copy,  which  was  never  completed, 
the  philosopher  took  me  off  to  furnish  a  paper  for  the  k>  West 
minster  Review,"  about  the  United  States.  And  before  that 
was  finished,  Mr.  Bowring  applied  to  me  to  undertake  a  trans 
lation  of  Mr.  Bentham' s  great  work  on  "  Morals  and  Legisla 
tion."  promising  me  two  hundred  guineas  for  the  job,  and 
apologizing  at  the  same  time,  for  the  inadequacy  of  the  prof 
fered  compensation,  by  stating  that,  little  as  it  was.  it  would 
be  a  dead  loss,  in  a  pecuniary  view  ;  the  object  being  merely 
to  give  Mr.  Bentham  an  opportunity  of  appearing  before  the 
British  public,  in  a  language  they  were  acquainted  with.  To 
all  this  I  agreed,  without  hesitation,  and  went  to  work  forth 
with  ;  but.  before  the  job  was  completed,  the  blowing  up  of 
another  project,  suggested  by  the  amiable  and  ingenious  John 
Bowring,  whose  liberal  patronage  and  philanthropy  were  not 
so  well  understood  at  the  time,  arising  out  of  the  Greek  loan, 
and  the  exposure  that  followed  in  the  House-of-Commons,  led 
me  to  announce  that  one  volume  was  completed,  and  that,  if 


286  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

agreeable  to  others,  it  would  be  very  pleasant  for  me  to  touch 
a  portion  of  the  quid  pro  quo. 

To  this  very  natural  proposition,  what  think  you  was  the 
reply  of  Mr.  John  Bowring,  the  contriver  ami  instigator  of  so 
many  plans  for  the  encouragement  of  the  industrious,  and  the 
gifted,  and  for  the  help  of  the  troubled  and  impoverished  ?  A 
stare  of  unqualified  astonishment  ;  a  brief,  anxious,  and  hurried 
look  into  my  eyes ;  a  slight  trembling  of  the  under  lip ;  and 
then  —  would  you  believe  it?  —  a  reluctant  avowal  that  all 
he  had  done  was  without  authority  ;  and  that,  in  short,  he  would 
apply  forthwith  to  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  and  Mr.  John  Smith, 
M.P.,  the  banker,  and  two  or  three  more  honest  and  hearty 
admirers  of  Mr.  Bentham ;  and  if  they  would  furnish  the 
wherewithal,  he  should  be  happy  —  very  happy — nothing 
would  give  him  more  pleasure  than,  —  to  keep  his  engagement ! 
There  was  but  one  reply  to  a  proposition  of  this  nature.  That 
reply  was  instantly  made,  and  there  the  negotiation  was  fin 
ished,  for  ever.  On  my  return  to  America,  I  published  a 
part  of  this  very  translation  in  the  "  Yankee,"  and  then,  with 
it,  a  biographical  sketch  of  Mr.  Bentham,  in  a  volume  already 
mentioned. 

And  how  about  the  Greek  loan  ?  Well,  Mr.  Bowring 
was  the  secretary  of  a  large  and  influential  body  of  men,  called 
the  Greek  Committee.  He  labored  night  and  day  to  run  up 
the  stock  ;  bullying  it,  and  the  public,  through  the  journals  and 
newspapers,  and  purchasing  to  the  full  extent  of  all  his  means, 
capital,  and  credit,  which,  of  course,  with  the  Greek  Commis 
sioners,  was  not  to  be  questioned  or  disparaged  ;  talking  on 
'Change,  by  the  half-hour,  his  philhellenism,  and  prating  every 
where  about  Lord  Byron.  Colonel  Stanhope,  and  Trelawney ; 
and  blazing  forth  at  public  dinners  and  meetings  in  a  sort  of 
India-cracker  style —  fizz,  fizz  !  flash  and  whirr  !  —  about  a  free 
press,  and  the  sacrifices  due  to  that  country  of  "  gods  and 
godlike  men."  Meanwhile,  he  withheld  information,  which, 
as  Secretary  of  the  Greek  Committee,  he  was  constantly 
receiving,  and  which,  if  communicated,  would  have  sent  the 
stock  down  to  zero  —  if  not  something  lower.  Had  he  realized, 
as  we  say  in  America,  when  it  stood  highest,  he  would  have 
made  a  fortune  ;  but  he  held  on.  till  it  began  to  tumble,  after 
the  fashion  of  other  stocks —  the  Mississippi-Scheme,  the  South- 


I) K.    JOHN    BOWRING.  287 

Sea-bubble,  and  the  French  assignats,  i;  Erie  preferred,"  and 
continental  money  :  and  then,  oil'  lie  posted  to  the  Greek  depu 
ties —  of  whom  he  had  purchased,  not  long  before,  at  a  much 
lower  figure  than  the  market  price,  on  account  of  his  philan 
thropy  and  philliellenism.  and  the  services  lie  had  rendered,  by 
pulling  the  stock  —  and  insisted  on  their  taking  it  olF  his  hands, 
lest  he  and  the  muniticent  Joseph  Hume.  M.P..  another  lar<je 
speculator,  should  be  under  the  disagreeable  necessity  of 
abandoning  the  cause  of  Grecian  liberty  for  ever.  lie  was  a 
husband  and  a  father  —  he  had  ruined  himself,  pledged  all 
his  resources,  and  exhausted  the  patience,  if  not  the  purses,  of 
his  best  friends — and  must  be  indemnified  for  all  the  sacri 
fices  he  had  made,  or  was  ever  likelv  to  make  —  f/irns/t. 
AVhat  could  the  poor  Greek  deputies  do.  in  such  a  ca»e  '".  Mr. 
Bowring  was  their  Secretary,  under  pretence  of  beinu  Secre 
tary  of  the  Greek  Committee;  while  Mr.  Hume  was  not  only 
a  member  of  the,  board,  but  a  pennv-wise  and  pound-foolish 
member  of  the  Ilonse-of-Commons. 

Thev  submitted,  of  course :  and  what  followed  ?  The 
doctor  —  he  was  a  doctor  before  lie  not  through  with  the 
business,  I  believe — went  on  doctoring  the  stock  bv  dilution, 
if  not  by  downright  watering,  as  we  do  here,  till  it  went  up 
—  up —  up  —  up  —  and  finally  reached  so  high  a  figure,  that 
he  bewail  to  have,  his  misgivings,  and  then  to  believe  that  he 
had  overreached  himself;  and  then  he  sat  down  and  wrote 
another  Ion 2  letter  to  the  Greek  deputies,  mentioning  his 
wife  and  children  once  more,  and  recapitulating  the  sacrifices 
he  had  made1,  and  the  disinterested  services  he  had  rendered  ; 
got  the  whole  of  it  back  again  at  the  old  price,  and  thereby 
cleared  something  more  than  ten  thousand  pounds,  or  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  bv  his  philanthropy  and  disinterestedness. 

For  these  transactions  he  was  called  to  account  by  the 
"  Times  "  and  "  Morning  Chronicle;'  which  was  then 
edited  by  a  personal  friend  of  his.  a  thorough-going  Ben 
thamite  and  radical.  Mr.  Black  ;  by  the  former,  as  a  political 
firebrand  pitched  into  the  radical  camp,  alongside  of  their 
great  powder-magazine,  the  ''Westminster  Review:"  and 
by  the  latter,  because  the  question  had  to  be  answered,  and 
could  not  be  shirked. 

Had  the  doctor  coine  out  manfully,  and  acknowledged  the 


288  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

truth,  like  a  shrewd,  calculating  merchant,  justifying  the 
whole  as  a  fair  business  transaction,  and  not  as  a  quib- 
bler  and  shuffler,  nor  as  a  philanthropist,  there  the  matter 
would  have  ended,  as  it  did  with  Mr.  Hume,  who,  when 
he  was  called  to  account  in  the  House-of-Commons,  for  his 
share  in  the  transaction,  owned  up  at  once  ;  and,  by  way  of 
justification,  proposed  to  refer  it  to  a  committee  of  the  House, 
who  were  to  decide,  in  substance,  whether  the  watch  he  car- 
vied  was  honestly  come  by  or  not.  And  there  the  matter 
was  dropped ;  and  the  Scotch  member  went  scot-free  with 
his  depredations. 

Bat  Bowring  wanted  manliness ;  and,  after  denying  the 
whole  story  in  a  series  of  proverbs  and  apothegms,  which 
appeared  in  the  papers,  and  to  me  personally  —  so  that  I 
was  prevented  from  examining  the  charge,  till  it  was  too  late 
—  and  after  I  had  undertaken  his  defence,  with  a  feeling  of 
righteous  indignation,  relying  wholly  upon  his  solemn  assur 
ance  that  there  was  no  foundation  whatever  for  the  charge, 
and  no  truth  in  the  several  specifications,  I  had  to  give  up,  at 
last,  and  acknowledge  that  they  had  all  been  substantiated 
by  unquestionable  evidence.  Judge  of  my  mortification  ! 

So  much  for  the  short-sightedness  of  genius.  For  the 
sake  of  a  few  paltry  hundreds  a  year  to  himself,  he  puts 
Jeremy  Bentham,  his  best  friend  and  most  unwearied  bene 
factor,  to  the  charge  of  thousands  for  the  u  Westminster 
Review ;  "  for  the  sake  of  appearing  as  a  patron  of  Carl 
Volker,  he  gets  up  a  gymnasium,  which,  in  less  than  a 
twelvemonth  I  should  say,  cost  poor  Bentham,  at  a  time 
when  he  could  ill  afford  it,  over  thirty-five  hundred  dollars ; 
and,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  thousands  to  himself,  he  leads  his 
countrymen  into  a  disastrous,  and  almost  ruinous  speculation 
in  the  Greek  loans,  where  hundreds  of  thousands  were  lost, 
in  consequence  of  misrepresentation  and  concealment. 

Of  his  translations  —  or  paraphrases  —  I  am  inclined  to  think 
highly.  He  has  a  delicate  ear,  and  the  music  is  preserved  ; 
the  rhythmical  beat  of  the  original,  and  the  thoughts, 
where  they  are  on  a  level  with  the  higher  efforts  of  the  trans 
lator's  imagination.  But,  beyond  this,  they  are  of  necessity 
both  feeble  and  false ;  and  we  may  easily  measure  the  alti 
tude,  as  well  as  the  length  and  breadth,  of  Dr.  John  Bow- 


DR.    JOHN    BOWRING.  280 

ring's  imagination,  as  a  translator,  by  his  own  original  pieces. 
The  burning  passion,  the  overflowing  pathos  and  tender 
ness,  the  terrible  sublimity  of  the  great  northern  bards,  were 
untranslatable  />//  him.  and.  I  might  say.  for  him  :  though  he 
had  always  a  native  to  do  the  rendering  into  prose  of  what 
he  translated  into  verse.  The  way  lie  managed  was  this. 
He  would  take  the  original,  work  it  over  in  his  own  mind, 
get  full  of  his  author,  and  then  sit  down  and  consult  diction 
aries  and  natives,  and  give,  not  line  for  line,  nor  even  page 
for  paLre,  but  the  whole  in  a  him)),  as  it  were,  in  his  own  lan 
guage,  observing  every  peculiarity  of  measure,  with  a  good 
degree  of  succe>>.  Having  allowed  him  this  merit.  1  am 
obliged  to  stoj) :  human  charity  can  go  no  further  :  for.  as 
to  the  merit  of  authorship,  if  authorship  means  oriiiinalitv  of 
thought  or  expression,  1  hold  him  to  be  about  on  a  par  with 
those  who  take  watches  to  pieces  and  put  them  together 
again  for  smoke-jacks.  Just  now  I  see  that  he  is  bringing 
out  a  Chinese  novel.  k*  translated  by  Sir  John  Bowring." 

But  stav :  I  mu>t  give  a  sample  of  this  man's  original 
poetry,  if  only  to  show  how  desperate  and  hopeless  an  under 
taking  it  was  for  him.  to  think  of  representing  worthily — of 
personating  indeed,  in  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  be 
fore  all  the  nations  —  the  giants  of  the  stormy  and  illustrious 
North.  I  take  it  from  his  "  Lines  written  at  Sea  :  "  — 

"  When  tlif  bark  by  a  f/cnlle  wind  is  driven, 
And  the  bright  sun  dances  in  ;he  heaven, 
Up  and  down  as  the  rocking  boat, 
Upon  the  ridgy  waves  dot  It  float 

'tis  ficttt  tn  /non 

Gladlv  from  one  to  another  strand, 
Guided  by  some  invisible  hand." 

His  "  Matins  and  Vespers  "  —  a  wishy-washy  rendering  of 
Dr.  \Vit?chel's  "  Morgen  und  Abend,"  faintly  acknowledged 
to  be  not  altogether  his  own — is.  on  the  whole,  the  largest 
outlay  of  originality  he  has  ever  indulged  in. 

Two  or  three  more  illustrations  of  the  gentleman's  ver 
satility,  as  an  editor  and  reviewer  will  finish  the  picture  I 
have  been  sketching  front  life. 

A  stranger  and  a  scholar,  whose  translations  from  the 
German  were  unequalled,  being  applied  to  by  Mr.  Henry 

19 


290  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Southern,  assistant  editor  of  the  "  Radical,"  or  at  least  very 
liberal  "  Westminster."  for  a  paper,  sent  him  one  which 
Bowring  and  Southern  were  delighted  with.  After  a  while, 
and  before  it  got  into  type,  further  consideration  led  these 
great  champions  of  reform  to  think  it  a  little  too  bold,  and 
likely  to  be  unpalatable  to  his  Majesty  of  Prussia  :  and  so  it 
was  returned  to  the  writer,  with  a  suggestion,  that,  on  the 
whole,  perhaps,  it  was  a  little  too  liberal  even  for  the  "  West 
minster  Review."  And  vet,  that  very  paper,  after  a  touch 
or  two  of  the  scissors,  and  the  alteration  of  a  single  paragraph 
or  so,  was  then  offered  to  the  u  Quarterly,"  the  great,  illiberal 
"  Quarterly,"  accepted,  and  published  !  So  much  for  editorial 
courage  and  professional  editorship  over  sea ;  and  so  much 
for  profession  itself ! 

Another  case,  and  I  have  done.  Mr.  Solicitor  Parkes,  of 
Birmingham,  already  referred  to  more  than  once,  wrote  an 
article  for  the  "  Westminster  Review,"  which  was  accepted 
by  Southern,  who,  after  consultation  with  others,  notified  Mr. 
Parkes  that  the  paper  was  a  little  too  strong,  and  would  have 
to  be  boned.  Not  long  after,  Mr.  Parkes  was  asked  if  he  had 
any  objection  to  let  so  much  as  did  not  appear  in  the  "  West 
minster  "  go  into  the  *•  London  Magazine,"  of  which  Mr. 
Southern  was  the  managing  editor  and  co-proprietor.  Mr. 
Parkes  said, "  No."  Whereupon,  the  next "  London  Magazine  " 
came  out  with  the  best  part  of  the  whole  article  —  the  plums 
and  the  flavoring  —  but  so  unhappily  divided,  that  a  note 
which  Mr.  Parkes  had  written,  and  put  Dr.  Kitchener's  name 
to,  just  for  fun,  as  a  recipe  for  making  Tory-History,  was 
actually  dislocated  from  the  text,  and  put  into  the  last  part 
of  that  very  number,  as  a  bond  fide  recipe  by  Dr.  Kitchener! 
"  The  remainder  of  the  article,  reduced  to  one  and  a  half 
sheets,  will  appear,"  said  Mr.  Southern,  "  in  the  '  Westminster 
Review;'"  "And  as  Dr.  Lingard  has  been  replied  to,  since 
the  article  was  prepared,  that  reply  to  Dr.  Lingard,"  said  a 
friend,  "  will  probably  be  annexed  to  something  else,  for  the 
'  Westminster  Review,'  and  worked  up  with  the  balance  of 
your  paper."  Two  or  three  personal  sketches  here,  if  you 
please. 

About  this  time,  I  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Rowland 
Hill,  now  Sir  Rowland,  and  his  brother,  in  consequence  of 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  291 

their  labors  in  the  cause  of  education  at  "  Hazlewood-School  " 
—  imitated  here,  with  great  success,  at  Round-Hill,  North 
ampton,  where  the  system  of  self-government  was  faith 
fully  tried  for  a  season.  lioth  were  sons  of  Rowland  Hill, 
the  preacher  —  so  famous  for  eccentricity,  boldness,  faith 
fulness,  and  sterling  good-sense,  anticipating  Mr.  Spurgeon 
and  Mr.  Beeeher  by  half-a-hnndred  years.  To  the  elder,  we 
are  indel)ted  tor  the  penny-postage  in  England,  as  well  as  for 
the  penny  ha'penny  postage  here.  His  notions  were  lar^e  and 
wholesome,  and  of  such  a  character  for  good  sense  and 
adaptability,  as  to  be  carried  out  all  the  sooner  for  being 
universally  decried  or  laughed  at.  from  the  first.  And  now, 
as  41  natural  off-shoot  from  the  original  idea  of  this  honest- 
hearted,  sober-minded  man.  we  are  to  have  cheap  ocean- 
postage  and  a  cheap  telegraph.  In  this  way,  and  out  of  such 
apparently  trivial  changes,  the  greatest  benefactors  of  the 
human  race  are  made.  Long  before  1  left  Kn^land,  Mr. 
Hill  presented  me  with  a  hundred  copies  of  his  book,  on  the 
Ha/lewood  system,  for  distribution  here  ;  and  I  foresaw  then, 
much  of  what  has  happened  since,  in  the  large  and  liberal, 
and  comprehensive  purposes  of  the  man.  In  his  view,  we 
were  all  God's  children  ;  and  if  not  all  members  of  the  ureat 
household  of  faith,  at  least  brethren. 

He  was  about  the  average  si/e  and  weight  of  well-to-do 
Englishmen,  with  a  fine,  large  head,  a  pleasant  countenance, 
and  agreeable,  unpretending  manner,  hearty  and  sincere,  but 
no  talker. 

Another  person  I  knew  of  the  same  type,  Mr.  Black, 
editor  of  the  ''  Morning  Chronicle."  He  reminded  me  not 
only  of  Mr.  Hill,  but  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  and  of  Paul 
Allen,  in  his  plainness  of  speech,  good  sense,  and  simplicity  ; 
while,  in  shrewdness,  foresight,  and  the  unrelenting  grasp  of  a 
mind  that  feels  its  strength,  and  knows  how  to  employ  it, 
and  what  it  is  capable  of,  and  what  it  was  intended  for,  two 
out  of  the  three,  Oliver  and  Paul,  were  the  merest  children, 
in  comparison. 

Another  was  Mr.  George  Grote.  the  banker,  and  historian 
of  Greece,  a  somewhat  heavy-moulded,  benevolent-looking 
man,  of  dignified,  quiet,  and  agreeable  manners,  and  great  good 
sense,  but  slow  of  speech  ;  and,  but  for  his  wife,  a  woman  of 


292  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

fine  talents  and  ambitious  temper,  who  used  to  write  for  the 
';  Westminster  Review,"  utterly  incapable  of  what  lie  has 
at  last  accomplished  in  the  world  of  literature;  not  far 
from  forty  when  I  knew  him,  with  a  large  head,  tine  dark 
thoughtful  eyes,  a  capacious  forehead,  and  the  bearing,  not  so 
much  of  a  high-bred  gentleman  as  of  a  man,  who,  while  he 
respects  himself,  in  a  quiet  way,  respects  others  yet  more, 
and,  sometimes,  whether  they  deserve  it  or  not.  He  belonged 
to  a  club  of  debaters,  which  met  in  Mr.  Bentham's  roof, 
and.  after  a  while,  at  the  Free  Mason's  Tavern  ;  yet  I  never 
heard  him  open  his  mouth  but  once  in  debate,  and  then  only 
for  two  or  three  minutes,  in  a  conversational  tone.  He  was 
a  sincere  Benthamite,  nevertheless,  and  actuallv  prepared 
from  the  manuscript  hieroglyphics  of  that  philosopher  a  work 
entitled  "Analysis  of  the  Influence  of  Natural  Religion  on 
the  Temporal  Happiness  of  Mankind,"  which  appeared  in 
1822,  under  the  name  of  Philip  Beauchamp.  and  was  pub 
lished  by  that  hugest  blasphemer  of  the  day,  R.  Carlyle. 

But  by  far  the  most  remarkable  man  I  met  with  over 
sea,  often  enough  and  intimately  enough  to  understand  him  in 
all  his  bearings,  was  the  individual  who  has  since  become  the 
political  economist,  the  metaphysician,  the  logician  —  1  had 
almost  said  the  statesman  —  John  Stuart  Mill.  Cunning, 
timid,  politic,  without  originality,  wholly  destitute  of  imagina 
tion,  enthusiasm,  and  warmth,  all  which  he  stigmatized  as 
different  degrees  of  sentimentality,  and,  but  for  his  wife,  a  man 
who  would  have  lived  and  died  with  no  more  heart  than  a 
sphynx  or  a  syllogism,  lie  has  managed,  nevertheless,  by  bor 
rowing  largely  from  others,  and  especially  from  Bentham,  as 
did  his  father  before  him  in  his  "  British-India,"  where  the  ac 
count  of  Warren  Ilastings's  trial  is  taken  altogether  from 
Bentham,  even  to  the  language  —  to  establish  for  himself  a 
reputation  well  worth  living  for. 

His  logic  was  the  logic  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  and  of  nobody 
else,  with  a  few  unimportant  changes  ;  and  so  were  his  meta 
physics.  Of  Bentham.  he  learned  to  question  the  attributes, 
and  being  of  God.  though  never  willing  to  be  called  an 
atheist,  but  only,  at  the  worst,  a  free-thinker  and  philosopher. 
But  his  want  of  moral  courage  I  foresaw,  while  he  was  yet 
a  beardless  boy  in  appearance  —  hardly  out  of  his  teens  — 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  293 

and,  if  really  over  two  and  twenty,  looking  as  if  not  more 
than  eighteen,  with  a  small  head,  light-brown  hair,  a  girlish 
face,  and  a  bovish  manner  —  would  lead  him  into  some  dreadful 
scrape  at  last,  notwithstanding  his  uncommon  talent  of  a 
certain  kind  —  that  of  a  drudge  and  assayer.  and  his  excessive, 
caution  and  craft  :  and  so  it  turned  out.  Having  satisfied 
himself  that  breeding  of  anv  kind  was  to  be  discouraged  — 
as  Tom  Moore  said  of  him  in  other  and  better  language  — 
he  went  to  work  and  prepared  for  circulation,  and  then  cir 
culated,  far  and  wide,  through  the  rural  districts  and  among 
the  shifting  population  of  London,  a  little  paper  which  repre 
sented  as  perfectly  safe  a  certain  cheap  contrivance  for  pre 
venting  conception,  both  before  and  after  marriage  ;  and  had 
a  narrow  escape  from  a  disgraceful  prosecution,  which  Moore 
availed  himself  of.  by  an  epigram,  that  must  have  burned 
into  the  man's  flesh,  if  he  had  any.  like  a  red-hot  iron. 

Before  this,  however,  although  his  finger-prints  were  on 
the  margin  of  tin1  proof,  he  had  positively  denied  to  me  all 
agency,  and  all  participation  in  the  dastardly  and  treacherous 
manoeuvre  which  I  have  alreadv  mentioned  as  the  work 
chiefly  of  John  Bowring,  Esquire.  LL.I).  —  by  virtue  of  a 
Dutch  diploma,  for  translating  a  fe\v  Dutch  verses  into  what 
passed  in  Holland,  not  only  for  Eni_di>h.  but  for  English  poetry. 

Long  after  this,  and  within  the  last  two  or  three  years,  we 
find  the  gentleman  getting  ambitious,  or.  as  Robert  Walsh, 
Junior,  the  "  American  gentleman."  thought  proper  to  say  of 
President  Madison.  k*  presuming  to  be  ambitions,"  and  soon 
after  successful,  so  far  as  to  become  a  member  of  parliament, 
without  contributing  a  penny  —  from  principle,  of  course  — 
to  the  cost  of  his  own  election  ;  and,  again,  we  hear  of  him 
as  a  candidate,  and  trying  to  make  speeches,  and  failing,  of 
course,  as  he  always  must,  notwithstanding  his  acknowledged 
talents  as  a  writer  and  as  a  reasoner,  for  lack  of  natural,  and 
even  of  artificial,  warmth  and  earnestness.  Demonstrations, 
axioms,  and  syllogisms  are  not  speeches,  and  are  never 
listened  to  with  patience,  nor  ever  understood  by  the  people, 
when  they  are  announced  from  the  platform,  and  without 
even  a  show  of  earnestness. 

In  the  heat  and  hurrv  of  the  late  canvass,  we  find  him 
seriously  questioned  about  his  religious  belief;  but  instead  of 


294  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

answering,  "  That  is  none  of  your  business,"  and  stopping 
there,  as  he  might  well  have  done,  without  losing  caste, 
or  his  own  self-respect,  or  the  respect  of  others  ;  instead  of 
owning  up  to  what  he  made  no  secret  of,  when  I  knew  him,  he 
answered  with  a  special  plea,  just  as  Bowrini:  did.  when  called 
to  account  for  his  dealing  with  the  Greek-Commissioners 
about  the  Greek  loan,  and  refused  to  answer,  lest  he  should 
make  a  precedent  for  all  eternity.  As  if  any  man  who 
believes  any  thing,  has  a  riii'ht  to  withhold  the  acknowledg 
ment  of  his  belief,  when  seriously  questioned  !  As  if,  in  a 
matter  of  so  much  consequence  to  himself,  he  has  a  right  to 
shuffle  or  evade  the  inquiry:  or  refuse  to  answer  even  an 
impertinent  question,  for  such  a  reason  !  How  much  better  to 
say,  "Hands  off'!  I  do  not  choose  to  answer;  nor  will  I 
condescend  to  give  my  reasons  for  not  answering.  Let  us  do 
as  we  like,  and,  when  the  pinch  comes,  take  the  consequences." 
But  no  !  such  plain-dealing  is  not  in  Mr.  Mill's  way.  He 
would  call  it  sentimentality,  and  being  of  those  who  4*  never 
take  their  tea  without  a  stratagem,"  and  who  prefer  to  gain 
their  ends,  by  overreaching  or  outwitting  others,  he  has 
succeeded  at  last  in  cutting  his  own  throat  from  ear  to  ear, 
with  a  dull  pocket-knife^  and  will  most  likely  never  be  heard  of 
more,  in  public  life. 

In  his  book  on  liberty,  which,  instead  of  being  a  diluted 
tincture,  like  portions  of  the  '•  Rationale  of  Judicial  Evidence," 
is  but  another  decoction  of  concentrated  Benthamism,  he 
acknowledges  the  inspiration  of  his  wife.  When  I  knew  him, 
he  was  not  only  incapable  of  acknowledging,  but  even 
of  feeling,  obligation  to  anybody.  Hence  I  infer  that  she  was 
really  a  woman  of  great  power,  and  of  uncommon  worth  ;  and 
although  I  do  not  believe  what  he  says  of  her  judgment  and 
sweet  influence,  taking  the  whole  of  that  dedication  for  a 
sentimental  flourish,  still  I  must  say  that  she  appears  to  have 
humanized  him  ;  and  that,  on  the  whole,  having  satisfied  him 
that  he  was  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  an  icicle,  nor 
an  abstraction,  inert  and  lifeless.  I  am  sorry  she  did  not  live  long 
anough  to  prevent  his  making  a  fool  of  himself,  by  such  a 
pitiful  subterfuge  as  I  have  mentioned. 

But  enough  on  this  head,  or  these  heads ;  too  much 
perhaps  —  now  that  we  are  all  so  near  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage. 


SUBSTANTIAL    AND    CIRCUMSTANTIAL    TRUTHS.          295 

And  yet.  why  should  we  not  be  allowed  to  know  the  truth  of 
such  men  as  I  have  sketched  ?  Xo  matter  how  greatly  they 
niav  have  been  misunderstood,  or  undervalued,  or  overvalued, 
truth  is  always  better  and  safer  than  falsehood,  in  the  long- 
run.  I  do  not  say  in  religion  or  morals  only,  but  in  every 
thing — in  politics  and  state-craft,  as  well  as  in  controversy, 
diplomacy,  and  negotiation.  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  if  you  please  ! 


296  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MR.  JEFFREY  AND  THE  "EDINBURGH  REVIEW." 

OUR  CORRESPONDENCE;  AND  WHAT  FOLLOWED;  MR.  JOHN  AUSTIN;  HIS 
WIFE;  HER  FIRST  LITERARY  ADVENTURE;  JEREMY  BENTHAM,  A  GIGANTIC 
MYTH;  HIS  EDITOR  DUMONT;  DUMONT'S  CONNECTION  WITH  MIRABKAU; 
SIR  SAMUEL  ROMILLY  ;  BENTHAM'S  HOUSEKEEPER:  HE  BRINGS  HER  TO 
TERMS;  CHANGES  EVERYWHERE  IN  LEGISLATION  AND  JURISPRUDENCE; 
CIVIL  AND  CRIMINAL  PROCEDURE;  ALL  OWING  TO  BENTHAM;  AAKON 
BURR;  SUMNEK  LINCOLN  STARFIELD;  MR.  PELBY  THE  ACTOR;  MR  COKE 
OF  NORFOLK,  AFTERWARD  EARL  OF  LEICESTER;  JOHN  DUNN  HUNTER; 
CHESTER  HARDING  AND  HIS  FIRST  PORTRAITS. 

DEC.  30,  '68.  —  Before  I  leave  England,  let  me  finish  with 
the  reviewers,  who  would  have  finished  me,  if  I  had  not  with 
stood  them  to  the  face  ;  and  gather  up  the  ravellings  I  have 
left  on  my  way,  while  thinking  only  of  the  warp  and  woof,  as 
I  sent  the  flying  shuttles  hither  and  thither,  across  the  ocean, 
like  so  many  ships,  weaving  a  tissue  that  should  bind  both 
hemispheres,  even  closer  than  the  Atlantic  telegraph  itself. 

I  was  now  very  pleasantly  situated  with  Mr.  Bentharn,  who 
prevailed  upon  me  to  stay  over  till  the  next  year,  1827,  when 
he  promised  to  go  with  me  to  the  German  Spa.  though  I  was 
anxious  to  begin  what  I  intended  to  be,  at  last,  a  pretty 
thorough  sort  of  a  grand  tour,  afoot  and  alone,  if  nothing 
happened  to  change  my  views.  I  had  now  enough  to  do  for 
the  monthlies  and  quarterlies,  and  was  well  paid  for  my 
work. 

Just  then  it  was,  that  I  had  the  misunderstanding  with  the 
"  Westminster  Review,"  and  its  editors,  the  result  of  which 
was,  that,  as  I  would  not  consent  to  the  alterations,  and 
changes,  and  insolent  substitutions  of  the  editor,  my  last 
article  did  not  appear.  I  got  possession  of  it,  however,  and 
kept  it  until  a  few  weeks  before  my  departure  for  Paris,  very 
unexpectedly,  I  must  acknowledge,  as  will  appear  in  detail 
hereafter,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  send  it, 
unchanged,  to  the  "  Edinburgh."  I  knew,  of  course,  that,  if 


Mil.  JEFFREY  AND  THE  "EDINBURGH  REVIEW."   2D7 

I  had  the  time.  I  could  make  it  more  acceptable  to  Mr.  Jeffrey  ; 
but  I  was  hurried  to  death  by  business-affairs,  and  tired  to 
death  of  reviewers  and  editors.  They  were,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  a  set  of  prevaricating,  shuillin^,  heartless  block- 
headsi  or  knaves,  and  sometimes  both.  Mr.  Jeffivv  kept  the 
paper,  as  he  ha<i  some  others,  which  had  been  sent  him  by  a 
very  dear  friend  of  mine  (Mrs.  Sarah  Austin),  without  either 
publishing  it.  or  paving  for  it.  In  the  mean  time,  the  ••  ^sorth- 
American  Review  "  arrived,  with  an  article  on  this  very  book, 
which,  though  little  to  the  purpose,  on  some  accounts,  gave  to 
a  part  of  what  I  said,  especially  of  Roger  Williams  and  Lord 
.Baltimore,  the  appearance  of  having  been  prepared  bv  the 
same  writer.  I  was  vexed  by  the  delay,  and  wrote  Mr.  Jeffrey 
to  return  the  article  ;  and  1  was  the  more  in  earnest,  being 
about  to  leave  the  country,  and  having  a  right  to  expect  from 
one  to  two  hundred  dollars  for  it.  But  I  received  no  answer. 
1  wrote  again  :  still  no  answer.  At  last,  being  ready  to  go, 
and  having  lost  all  patience  with  the  gentleman  —  afterward 
Lord  Jeffrev  —  1  sent  him  the1  following  verv  respectful  note, 
as  you  must  acknowledge,  remembering,  as  J  did  so.  that  he 
had  once  treated  Mr.  Mill,  author  of  '•  British-India."  in  the 
same  way.  keeping  a  paper  that  Mr.  Mill  had  sent  him,  and 
neither  paying  him  for  it.  nor  publishing  it.  Of  course, 
representing  the  brotherhood  —  and  I  might  say  my  country 
—  for  everv  man  who  goes  abroad  represents  his  country, 
whether  he  will  or  no  —  he  cannot  help  it.  and  his  country  is 
judged  of  by  such  representation  —  I  was  not  in  the  humor  to 
be  trilled  with,  and  wrote  as  follows:  — 

"  Q.  S.  P..  14th  April,  1827. 
"  To  FRANCIS  JEFFREY,  ESQUIRE,  &c.,  &c. 

"  SIR,  — You  are  reputedly  the  editor  of  the  •  Edinburgh 
Review.'  If  so,  I  look  upon  you  as  answerable  to  me  for  the 
parcel  I  sent  you  some  months  ago.  I  have  paid  postage 
enough  about  this  matter,  and  others  in  which  I  had  no 
interest  ;  and  as  I  have  now  given  up  the  idea  of  going  to 
Scotland,  where  I  should  have  taken  the  trouble  to  say  to  you 
what  I  am  now  obliged  to  write,  1  must  beg.  not  as  a  matter 
of  favor,  but  of  common  decency  and  common  honesty,  that 
you  will  return  the  article  I  sent  you. 


298  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  Whatever  other  people  may  do.  I  choo.-e  to  hold  an  editor 
answerable,  as  I  do  other  men,  for  a  breach,  either  of  courtesy 
or  good  faith. 

"  I  shall  soon  be  in  America.  I  leave  this  country  for  the 
continent,  to-morrow ;  and,  in  America,  I  shall  expect  to 
receive  the  article  in  question. 

"  Yours  with  respect,  J.  N. 

"  Address  to  care  of ,  Baltimore,  Md." 


This  brought  my  gentleman  to  his  senses,  and  two  or  three 
months  after  my  arrival  in  America,  I  received,  with  the 
manuscript,  the  following  answer  :  — 

"  Edinburgh,  18th  April,  1827. 

"  SIR,  —  The  printed  paper  prepared  for  the  '  Westminster 
Review,'  with  the  manuscript  additions,  to  which  I  under 
stand  your  letter  of  the  14th  refers,  were  this  day  despatched 
for  Liverpool,  to  be  forwarded  to  your  address  at  Baltimore, 
Md. 

''  I  must  confess,  I  see  but  slender  grounds  for  the  tone  of 
impatience  and  resentment  you  assume  in  the  letter.  That  an 
article  withdrawn  from  one  journal  should  not  be  instantly 
inserted  in  another,  really  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  a  very 
reasonable  cause,  either  of  surprise  or  complaint.  [Here  the 
Lord-Advocate  betrays  himself:  my  complaint  was  not  that 
the  paper  had  not  been  instantly  inserted,  but  that  he  did  not 
answer  my  letters,  nor  return  the  paper  ;  but  he  continues.] 

"  The  truth  is,  that  I  thought  favorably,  on  the  whole,  of  the 
paper,  and  was  inclined  to  admit  it,  though  only  with  some 
retrenchments  and  variations,  upon  which  my  recent  ill  health 
and  many  avocations  prevented  me  from  consulting  you.  I  am 
not  aware  that,  till  the  letter  I  am  now  answering,  I  have 
received  any  request  of  yours  to  have  the  paper  returned,  or 
indeed  any  inquiry  with  regard  to  it.  How  common  decency, 
or  common  honesty,  are  concerned  in  all  this,  I  really  am 
unable  to  comprehend. 

"  I  understand  as  little  what  you  refer  to,  as  to  expense  of 
postage.  But  as  I  never  dispute  in  pecuniary  matters,  I  beg 


MR.    JEFFREY    AND    THE    "  EDINBURGH    REVIEW."       299 

leave  to  say,  that  whatever  you  please  to  claim  upon  this  head 
shall  be  instantly  paid  to  any  person  you  appoint. 
'•  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir. 

'•  Your  very  obd't  servant,  &c., 

••  FRANCIS  JEFFREY." 

All  so  gentlemanly  and  proper,  notwithstanding  the  false 
issue  tendered,  that,  as  I  had  never  heard  of  his  illness,  and 
had  no  idea  that  my  letters  had  miscarried  —  for  why 
should  they  ?  —  I  wrote  him  a  handsome  apology  :  and  there 
the  affair  ended,  somewhat  like  the  diu-1  between  Mr.  Jeffrey 
and  Tom  Moore,  when  it  was  found,  according  to  Byron,  that 
the  pistols  were  without  balls  —  the  lead  having  gone  to  their 
brains;  a  foolish  joke,  for  nobody  questioned  the  courage  of 
either.  But  then  k>  poor  dear  Byron  ''  had  still  something  to 
forgive,  notwithstanding  his  '•  British  Bards  and  Scotch 
Reviewers." 

Let  me  add  here,  that  the  article  in  question  appeared  in 
the  ''Yankee,"  September,  1828,  just  as  it  was  written,  word 
for  word. 

Another  case  referred  to  by  me  in  the  foregoing  correspond 
ence  with  Mr.  Jeffrey,  was  that  of  Mrs.  Sarah  Austin,  wife 
of  John  Austin,  the  barrister,  author  of  sundry  articles  on 
Jurisprudence,  in  the  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  which, 
though  on  several  accounts,  little  better  than  a  re-arrange 
ment  of  Bent  ham,  was  received  by  the  best  thinkers  of  the 
day  with  a  shout  of  welcome. 

Mrs.  Austin,  whose  delightful  work  on  Germany  our  people 
are  but  just  beginning  to  get  acquainted  with,  said  to  me  one 
day,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  before  she  was  known  as  a  writer, 
that  she  must  do  something  with  her  pen,  to  earn  a  little 
money ;  all  that  her  husband  could  earn,  together  with  the 
allowance  made  by  her  father,  Mr.  Taylor,  of  Norwich,  and 
by  Mr.  Austin's  father,  not  being  enough  to  make  them  com 
fortable.  They  had  only  one  child  —  now  Lady  Duff  Gor 
ton,  whose  beautiful  translations  of  the  "Amber  Witch,"  and 
of  the  '•  French  in  Algiers,"  we  are  all  acquainted  with  —  a 
tall,  spirited,  slender  girl,  with  wonderful  eyes,  of  thirteen  or 
so  ;  but  so  straitened  were  they  in  their  circumstances,  that 
they  should  look  upon  the  advent  of  another  as  quite  a  seri 
ous  calamity. 


300  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

But  what  should  she  do  ?  A  woman  of  acknowledged  tal 
ent,  highly  accomplished,  and  in  perfect  health  —  was  it  to  be 
endured  that  she  should  be  dependent  on  such  precarious  con 
tingencies  ?  I  said  no.  with  great  emphasis ;  and  then  she 
showed  me  a  manuscript  of  Spanish  phrases,  prepared  by  her, 
for  publication.  Of  course,  having  gone  so  far,  it  was  no  time 
to  disparage  the  undertaking ;  but  I  counselled  her  to  write 
for  the  magazines  and  quarterlies.  My  proposition  frightened 
her.  She  actually  trembled  ;  such  a  thing  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  She  had  no  confidence  in  herself,  she  said.  I 
knew  better :  nevertheless,  I  proposed  translations  ;  and 
after  a  while,  an  opportunity  occurred  for  translating  some  of 
Ugo  Foscolo's  admirable  essays,  for  the  "  Edinburgh."  I  wrote 
Mr.  Jeffrey,  and  sent  her  papers.  He  took  no  notice  of 
them,  and  neglec-ted  to  answer  my  letters  of  inquiry,  for  a 
long  time ;  though,  if  I  remember  aright,  her  articles  were 
afterward  published  in  that  journal,  or  in  some  other,  and 
opened  a  way  for  her  to  the  distinction  she  soon  after 
obtained.  It  was  to  this  I  referred,  after  speaking  of  Mill's 
case,  in  the  last  chapter. 

Having  so  often  mentioned  Jeremy  Bentham  in  the  progress 
of  my  story,  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  give  some  account 
of  that  extraordinary  man,  though  it  may  be  for  the  hun 
dredth  time,  taking  care  not  to  resay  what  I  have  said  before. 

Before  I  went  abroad,  I  was  familiar  with  Mr.  Bentham's 
published  works,  but  supposed  him  to  be  a  Frenchman,  as  all 
I  had  met  with,  except  his  "  Morals  and  Legislation,"  and  the 
"  Defence  of  Usury,"  were  written  in  French.  Nobody  to 
whom  I  applied,  not  even  Professor  Hoffman,  of  the  Mary 
land  University,  nor  John  Pierpont,  who  were  among  his 
most  enthusiastic  admirers,  could  give  me  any  information 
worth  having,  about  the  man  himself,  or  his  works. 

After  my  arrival  in  England,  I  continued  my  inquiries,  but 
found  the  k'  Philosopher  of  Queen-Square  Place  "  little  better 
than  a  myth.  Nobody  knew  him,  nobody  had  seen  him,  and 
nobody  knew  where  to  find  him  ;  nobody,  that  is,  of  whom  I 
inquired.  Judge  of  my  surprise,  therefore,  when  I  received 
an  invitation  from  Mr.  R.  Doane,  his  s-ecretarv.  to  a  dinner  at 
the  "  Hermitage,"  as  they  called  it.  on  Queen-Square  Place, 
Westminster,  opening  into  St.  James's  Park. 


JEREMY    BEXTIIAM.  301 

I  went:  and  the  consequence  was.  after  two  or  three  capital 
dinners  had  been  digested,  that  I  was  installed,  without  cere 
mony,  though  with  decided  emphasis,  in  the  apartments  occu 
pied  not  long  before  bv  Aaron  Burr,  and  then  bv  Fanny 
Wright. 

'•Why  are  most  of  your  work> "  —  all  I  had  been  ac 
quainted  with  in  America,  except  the  earliest  issue  of  his 
Morals  and  Legislation,  and  the  Defence  of  Usury  —  ••  pub 
lished  in  French  ?  "  I  asked,  one  day,  when  we  were  talking 
about  his  Theorie  des  Peines  et  des  Recompenses,  taken 
from  the-  manuscripts  of  Jeremy  Bentham.  by  Kt.  Dumont, 
which  I  had  proposed  to  translate  into  English  before  I 
left  America,  but  could  find  no  publisher  willing  to  pav 
even  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  job  —  all  I  a-ked  —  though 
there  were  two  large  octavos,  containing  it  12  pages  of  close 
print,  with  notes. 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  u  I  wrote  most  of  them  in 
French." 

"  But  why  in  French?" 

"Because,  in  writing  French.  1  was  not  so  painfully  sensi 
ble  of  the  inadequacy  of  language,  as  when  writing  English." 
And  this,  from  the  man  who  had  written  a  ••  Defence  of 
Usury,''  so  wonderful  for  its  clearness,  beauty,  and  precision, 
that  it  was  attributed  to  Lord  Mansfield  himself,  when  it  first 
appeared  ;  and  a  "  Fragment  on  Government,"  wherein  he  took 
not  a  few  of  the  Law-Magnates  bv  the  ears,  and  fairly  boned 
Blackstone.  till  there  was  little  or  nothing  left  of  him,  but  the 
stuffing. 

But  who  was  Dumont?  And  how  came  he  to  be  rummag 
ing  Bentham's  manuscripts  and  other  treasures,  until  he  had 
produced  no  fewer  than  eight  large  octavos,  of  the  highest 
authority  over  all  Europe,  in  the  most  beautiful  French,  and 
so  logically  arranged,  that  every  new  volume  seemed  to  be 
naturally  evolved  from  the  foregoing,  like  the  banyan  tree, 
which  no  sooner  touches  the  soil,  than  it  takes  root  and 
springs  up  anew.  In  the  '•  Life  of  Sir  Samuel  Romilly," 
written  by  himself,  part  II.,  he  says,  while  speaking  of  ^lira- 
beau,  "The  address  of  the  National  Assembly  to  the  King  for 
the  removal  of  the  troops  —  an  address  which  was  adopted  the 
moment  that  Mirabeau  proposed  it,  and  which  produced  so 
great  an  effect  —  was  entirely  written  by  Dumont." 


302  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

And  again,  "  The  last  of  Mirabeau's  letters  to  his  constitu 
ents,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  compositions  in  the  French 
language,  was  also  Dumont's.  Its  extraordinary  success  sug 
gested  the  idea  of  publishing  a  regular  journal,  and  not  under 
Mirabeau's  name ;  but  which,  from  the  great  talents  dis 
played  in  it,  was  generally  supposed  to  be  written  by  him, 
and  he  was  too  proud  of  the  performance  to  deny  it. " 

Sir  Samuel  gives  other  anecdotes  of  Mirabeau's  unprin 
cipled  plagiarism  and  piracy,  which  he  seems  rather  disposed 
to  forgive,  or  at  least  overlook,  though  by  no  means  to  jus 
tify.  And  among  others,  one,  where  a  retort  by  Dumont, 
"  Membre  du  conseil  representant  et  souverain  de  Geneve," 
so  struck  Mirabeau,  that  he  transferred  it  to  a  session  of  the 
National  Assembly ;  and  putting  the  remark  into  the  mouth 
of  Mounier,  and  claiming  the  retort  for  himself,  in  debate,  as 
instantaneous  and  overwhelming,  actually  published  it  in  the 
journal  referred  to.  "  Le  Courrier  de  Provence,"  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  though  nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  happened  in  the 
Assembly,  and  there  were  half  a  dozen  persons  alive,  who 
knew  when,  where,  and  how  it  did  happen.  But  what  did 
he  care?  It  was  believed,  notwithstanding  the  testimony  of 
M.  Mounier  himself. 

"  Mirabeau  represents  Mounier  as  saying,  in  the  National 
Assembly,  that  it  was  corruption  which  had  destroyed  Eng 
land  ;  and  himself,  as  very  happily  turning  that  extravagant 
hyperbole  into  ridicule,  by  exclaiming,  upon  the  important 
news  so  unexpectedly  communicated  to  the  Assembly,  of  the 
destruction  of  England,  by  asking  when,  and  in  what  form, 
that  remarkable  event  had  happened."  Sismondi  confirms 
most  of  all  this. 

Dumont  was  born  and  educated  at  Geneva.  He  was  also 
in  process  of  time,  pastor  of  a  Protestant  Church  at  St. 
Petersburg!].  Lord  Lansdowne  applied  to  Romilly,  a  stran 
ger  at  the  time,  about  sending  for  Dumont  to  become  the 
tutor  of  his  son,  Henry,  the  youngest,  afterward  Marquis  of 
Lansdowne.  says  Sir  Samuel ;  and  the  late  Dr.  Vaughari, 
of  Hallo  well,  Me.,  corroborated  the  substance  of  what  Sir 
Samuel  testified  to,  and  from  his  own  personal  knowledge. 

Such  was  Dumont;  the  man.  above  all  others,  to  whom  the 
great  and  good  Bentham  is  chiefiy  indebted  for  the  prodigious 


JERKMY    BEXTHAM.  303 

reputation  he  now  enjoys,  throughout  the  world.  amon^  rulers, 
philanthropists,  statesmen,  lawgivers,  and  lawyers.  "  Noth 
ing."  Dr.  Parr  used  to  say,  "  nothing  since  the  appearance  of 
Bacon's  '  Novum  Organum.'  is  to  be  compared  with  Bentham's 
•Morals  and  Legislation.""  And  Dr.  Parr  was  riuht;  al 
though  even  his  ••  Morals  and  Legislation."  as  it  iirst  appeared 
in  Knrjlish.  would  never  have  been  studied  or  cared  for,  but 
for  Dtimont's  admirable  translation  into  French,  and  his  re 
arrangement  of  the  whole  in  three  large  octavos,  whereby  the 
svstem.  and  the  laws  of  mind  regulating  that  system,  as  first 
announced  by  Bentham.  in  language  not  easily  understood  by 
the  common  reader,  became  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  compact 
as  adamant. 

The  jokes  of  Sydney  Smith,  the  libs  and  laughable  exag 
gerations  of  Captain  Parrv.  and  the  wicked  fun  of  Christo 
pher  North,  had  got  such  possession  of  the  public  mind,  that 
nothing  was  too  strange  for  belief,  when  told  of  the  "  white- 
haired  Sage,"  as  Bowring  called  him.  That  he  did  much,  and 
said  more,  to  justify  some  of  the  notions  that  prevail,  cannot 
be  denied.  His  whimsies  and  extravagances  were  so  out  of 
the  common  way.  that,  really,  it  is  no  wonder  sometimes,  that 
he  passed  for  a '"  gray-haired  lunatic,"  out  for  exercise,  or  try- 
ins1  to  escape  from  his  keepers,  when  the  simple  truth  was, 
that  instead  of  taking  his  ki  post-prandial  vibration."  as  he 
called  it,  in  his  *•  work-shop,"  or  up  and  down,  and  hither  and 
thither  in  his  garden,  which  was  the  largest  that  opened  into  . 
the  Park,  he  cantered  off,  with  his  white  hair  flying  in  the 
wind,  and  his  secretary  following,  on  his  way  through  Charing- 
Cross  and  Fleet-Street,  to  the  annuity-office,  where  he  had  to 
report  himself,  in  person,  and  account  for  having  outlived  all 
their  calculations.  He  was  now  in  his  seventy-eighth  year, 
and  lived  till  June  G,  1832;  being  past  eighty-five  at  the  time 
of  his  death. 

We  were  always  on  the  best  of  terms,  notwithstanding  a 
sore  trial  he  was  subjected  to  by  no  fault  of  mine,  just  before 
he  gave  up  the  idea  of  going  to  Germany  with  me,  and  I  went 
over  to  Paris,  without  him.  in  182G. 

He  had  a  fat,  elderly  woman,  for  housekeeper,  who  knew 
all  his  humors  and  fancies,  and  for  thirty  years  had  ministered 
to  both.  But  she  was  absolute  and  tyrannical.  The  secre- 


301  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

taries  were  constantly  complaining  of  her  behavior  to  them 
and  others,  and  Mrs.  Sarah  Austin  told  me  that  she  was 
almost  afraid  to  come  to  the  house ;  that  Miss  Fanny 
Wright,  and  Mrs.  George  Grote,  and  others,  had  been  actually 
driven  away ;  and  that  nobody  had  the  courage  to  tell  Mr. 
Bentham  how  his  friends  were  treated  by  tliis  virago.  What 
should  I  do  ?  I  had  made  all  my  preparations  for  going  to 
Paris,  within  a  month  :  but  so  much  of  his  comfort  depended 
upon  the  few  friends  he  had  left,  and  they  were  so  unwilling 
to  have  me  £O  without  first  enlightening  him  on  the  subject, 
that,  one  day,  I  took  advantage  of  something  which  had  just 
occurred  between  her  and  the  two  secretaries,  and  after  tell- 
ing  him  that  I  should  soon  be  off  to  Paris,  and,  though  lie 
remonstrated,  that  nothing  could  induce  me  to  change  my 
determination,  I  went  into  the  subject,  and  stated,  not  only 
what  I  had  been  told  by  others,  but  what  I  myself  had  been 
a  witness  of,  in  her  behavior  to  his  secretaries,  who  had  grown 
up  under  his  roof.  I  made  no  complaint  for  myself,  though  I 
might  have  done  so,  with  propriety  ;  for  she  had  amused  her 
self  one  day,  in  bawling  at  me,  with  the  windows  wide  open, 
across  a  long  court-yard,  calling  me  a  nasty  Yankee,  by  innu 
endo,  and  insinuating  that  I  had  the  philosopher  under  my 
thumb,  and  was  managing  to  get  possession  of  all  his  property 
—  after  death,  I  inferred,  though  she  did  not  say  so.  Of 
course,  I  said  nothing  of  all  this,  though  it  was  what  had  de 
termined  me  to  "clear  out"  immediately,  without  so  much  as 
saying,  "  by  your  leave." 

He  grew  thoughtful,  when  I  mentioned  what  had  happened 
in  my  presence  to  the  two  secretaries,  and  seemed  to  think 
there  must  be  something  else  at  bottom  ;  but  I  evaded  the 
inquiry,  as  he  had  over  and  over  again  begged  me  to  keep 
him  informed,  if  the  servants  were  guilty  of  any  misbehavior, 
or  any  neglect,  or  if  they  did  not  do  whatever  I  desired, 
promptly  and  respectfully.  But  why  say  this  to  me.  unless 
he  had  been  troubled  before  with  such  complaints,  from  guests 
or  visitors?  For  myself,  I  must  acknowledge,  that,  with  the 
single  exception  I  have  mentioned,  I  had  nothing  to  complain 
of,  and  that  I  kept  to  myself.  Yet,  such  was  the  general 
neglect  of  the  servants,  that  I  should  have  left  him,  long 
before,  but  for  my  unwillingness  to  give  such  a  reason ;  and 


JEREMY    BENTHAM.  305 

really.  I  had  no  other  to  give,  until  I  found  his  health  so  much 
better,  that  the  idea  of  going  to  the  German  Spa  was  aban 
doned. 

At  this  time,  I  was  employed  on  an  abridgment,  or  synopsis, 
of  all  the  eases  in  Comyns's  Digest,  relating  to  the  subject- 
matter  of  his  code,  suspending,  at  his  urgent  desire,  my  labors 
on  '•  Judicial  Evidence.''  Having  completed  this,  and  men 
tioned  all  that  appeared  to  me  necessarv.  about  the  misbe 
havior  of  his  servants.  I  found,  that,  unless  I  told  the  whole 
truth,  it  would  be  likely  to  do  little  or  no  gootl.  But  why 
should  I  do  this,  at  the  risk  of  bringing  about  a  breach 
between  the  dear  old  master  and  a  favorite  housekeeper,  of 
thirty  years'  standing  —  when  he,  pay  what  he  might,  would 
never  be  likelv  to  find  another  to  fill  her  place.  And  yet,  his 
friends  —  his  real  friends  —  expected  it  of  me.  They  were 
treated  with  rudeness,  the  women  especially,  and  they  knew 
that  nobody  would  ever  be  his  guest  a  second  time,  unless 
there  should  be  a  change.  He  ou^ht  to  know  it  :  that 
seemed  clear.  But  who  should  tell  him?  Thev  were  afraid 
of  the  unthankful  office  ;  but  I  was  going  away,  and  for  ever. 
On  me,  therefore,  the  •  ungracious  duty  seemed  to  devolve. 
Soon  after  I  had  reached  this  conclusion,  a  good  opportunity 
occurred. 

The  old  woman,  not  satisfied  with  letting  us  —  the  two  sec 
retaries  and  mvself — ring  for  breakfast,  or  for  anv  thing  else 
we  wanted,  till  our  arms  ached,  had  taught  the  other  servants 
to  disregard  the  bell.  This,  I  could  not  and  would  not  bear ; 
so,  the  very  first  time  I  had  occasion  to  ring  a  second  time,  I 
rang  without  stopping,  till  they  came.  This  brought  up,  first, 
a  girl,  who  played  a  trick  with  our  tea;  and  then  the  house 
keeper,  who  berated  not  only  the  secretaries,  but  myself,  in 
the  rudest  manner.  You  would  have  thought  her  the  mis 
tress  of  some  low.  country  ale-house.  I  desired  her  to  leave 
the  room.  She  refused.  I  repeated  my  desire  in  the  shape 
of  a  peremptory  order  ;  but  instead  of  obeying,  she  set  her 
arms  akimbo,  and  plumped  into  a  chair;  whereupon  I  told 
her,  that  if  she  did  not  instantlv  get  up  and  walk  out  of  the 
room,  as  I  bade  her.  I  would  pitch  her  down  the  cellar-stairs, 
head-first,  chair  and  all.  She  was  a  large,  robust,  vulgar 
woman;  but  I  took  hold  of  the  chair  in  earnest,  and  she 

20 


30G  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

heard  it  creak.  She  was  frightened,  most  likely,  nt  what  she 
had  seen  me  do  at  our  garden  gymnasium,  from  her  windows, 
and  jumped  up  ;  and  I  succeeded,  by  putting  my  hand  first  on 
one  shoulder,  and  then  on  the  other,  in  waltzing  her  out  of 
the  room,  without  any  further  trouble.  But  my  mind  was 
now  made  up.  I  went  straightway  to  Mr.  Bentham.  and  told 
him  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  him  at  once,  and  why;  that 
after  I  was  gone,  she  might  be  managed  perhaps  ;  at  any  rate, 
I  must  go.  He  begged  me  to  delay,  till  he  had  some  alterna 
tive  to  offer.  I  could  not  refuse  ;  and  the  result  satisfied  me 
that,  if  he  lacked  energy  in  trifles,  he  certainly  did  not  in 
serious  matters  ;  for  to  him.  at  his  great  age,  and  with  his 
peculiar  habits,  what  could  be  more  trying  than  the  departure 
of  an  old,  and,  I  dare  say,  faithful,  housekeeper  ?  But  he  was 
firm.  Having  inquired  of  the  two  secretaries,  who  were  pres 
ent  all  the  time,  and  who  were  able  to  say  much  more  than  I 
did,  he  gave  her  and  the  other  immediately  concerned  the 
choice  of  making  a  satisfactory  apology  to  me,  or  of  leaving 
his  service  that  very  day  at  four  o'clock.  I  remonstrated,  but 
in  vain.  The  waiter-girl  submitted,  and  was  retained.  The 
housekeeper  said  no ;  and  she  was  packed  off,  bag  and  bag 
gage,  though  she  told  him  to  his  face,  that,  if  she  went,  all  the 
others  were  determined  to  follow.  But  none  did  follow  ;  and 
the  immediate  consequence  was  such  a  thorough  and  satisfac 
tory  household  reform,  that  he  used  to  thank  me  for  the  stand 
I  took,  with  a  heartiness,  which  one  who  did  not  know  the 
value  of  an  old  servant  to  such  a  master,  would  have  thought 
greatly  disproportioned  to  the  favor  he  acknowledged.  A  sis 
ter  of  the  old  housekeeper  succeeded  her  ;  and,  after  two  years, 
the  first  re-appeared  in  her  place,  much  to  my  relief,  when  I 
heard  of  it,  not  long  before  the  great  man's  death. 

People  who  have  heard  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  only  through 
"  Black  wood,"  the  '•  Edinburgh,"  Francis  Jeffrey,  Professor  Wil 
son,  and  that  wittiest  of  reviewers,  Sydney  Smith,  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  wonderful  changes  in  legislation  and  jurisprudence 
and  in  the  administration  of  justice,  throughout  the  world,  of 
which  he  was  the  originator.  Lord  Brougham's  labors,  and 
the  labors  of  Mill  the  father.  Mill  the  son;  of  Sir  Samuel 
Romilly,  of  Solicitor  Parkes.  of  Robert  Owen,  of  Rowland 
Hill,  now  Sir  Rowland ;  of  the  two  Austins,  especially  of  the 


JEREMY    BENTHAM.  307 

elder  on  Jurisprudence,  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  ;    of 

Grote.  the  historian  :  of  Roebuck,  tin*  —  —  what  shall  I  call 
him  r  —  for  he  is  unlike  everybody  else,  so  that  "none  but 
himself  can  he  his  parallel:''  of  all  our  reformers  in  this  coun 
try,  on  the  subject  of  universal  .suffrage,  the  law  of  evidence. 
and  the  admission  of  parties,  on  usury,  on  women's  rights.  &c., 
£r,e.  :  to  say  nothing  of  such  men  as  Aaron  Burr.  John  Pierpont, 
David  Hoffman,  and  Chief-Justice  Appletou,  of  Maine  —  have 
all  been  after  the  plans,  promptings,  and  suggestions  of 
Jeremy  Bentham.  Since  the  times  of  Aristotle  and  Lord 
Bacon,  it  may  be  said  with  truth,  and  here  I  have  the  opinion 
of  Dr.  Parr  to  strengthen  me.  there  has  been  no  such  reforms 
brought  by  any  mortal  man  in  logic,  in  morals  and  legisla 
tion,  in  civil  and  criminal  jurisprudence,  in  the  administration 
of  justice,  or  in  the  treatment  of  criminals,  as  by  this  extraor- 
dinarv  man.  and  his  disciples  and  followers.  The  legislation  of 
the  world  —  it  is  not  saying  too  much,  of  the  whole  world  — 
has  been  modified,  or  completely  revolutionized,  by  the 
tremendous,  though  quiet  energy  of  that  old  man's  mind. 

Look  at  the  law  of  evidence,  for  example.  If  any  part  of 
that  law  which  is  called  "  the  perfection  of  reason,"  deserved  to 
be  so  regarded  by  the  profession,  it  was  the  law  of  evidence. 
Upon  this  point,  we  were  all  of  one  mind.  Whatever  might 
be  said  of  the  Lex  Mercatoria.  of  Coke's  Institutes. or  Shepard's 
Touchstone,  or  Fearne's  Contingent  Remainders  and  Executory 
Devises  — the  adjudications  of  Lord  Mansfield,  with  the  Com 
mentaries  of  Blackstone.  of  Gould,  of  Chitty,  of  Pcake,  of 
Greeuleaf,  Starkey.  Story,  Powell,  and  others,  on  the  law 
of  evidence,  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  But  how  is  it  now? 
Since  Bentham  appeared,  and  his  labors  have  come  to  he  un 
derstood,  what  is  there  left  of  the  whole  system,  worth  re 
membering  ?  The  wisest  maxims  of  our  fathers  have  been 
set  aside  without  ceremony  ;  and  common-sense,  everywhere,  is 
taking  the  place  of  precedents  and  technicalities. 

But  how  came  this  man  to  undertake  so  much,  and  to  per 
severe  so  long,  against  all  combinations  and  misrepresenta 
tions,  for  a  lifetime  ? 

"  I  am  naturally  a  weak  mind,"  said  he  to  me,  one  day,  as 
we  sat  over  our  tea,  talking  this  matter  over.  "All  that  can 
be  said  of  me  is,  that  I  have  made  the  most  of  it.'' 


308  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  said  he,  at  another  time,  with 
a  look  of  great  solemnity,  "  whether  or  no  I  was  not  mad.  If 
I  am  not  —  such  things  will  come  across  our  thoughts,  now 
and  then  —  all  the  rest  of  the  world  must  be  so."  — k'  No,  no," 
said  I :  "  their  not  believing  as  you  do,  in  cases  which  are 
abundantly  clear  to  you,  proves,  not  that  they  are  mad,  but 
that  they  have  not  considered  the  matter  as  you  have." — 
"True,  true,"  he  said;  "yes,  yes,  to  be  sure;  besides,  for 
forty  years  there  was  nobody  to  attack  me,  except  with 
ridicule  and  misrepresentation." 

"  What  did  your  father  think  of  these  works  ?  "  I  inquired, 
as  he  took  down  the  "l  Defence  of  Usury,"  from  a  shelf,  and 
mentioned  that  the  copy  had  belonged  to  his  father.  It  was 
crammed  with  letters,  and  a  review  from  the  ""Old  Monthly"  was 
watered  into  it.  "  I'll  tell  you,"  said  he,  with  great  eagerness. 
" '  Jerry,'  "  said  he,  on  his  death-bed, '  Jerry,  you  have  made  a 
philosopher  of  me.'"  I  suppose  I  smiled;  for  the  idea  of 
that  old  white-haired  man  before  me,  nearly  "  fourscore  and 
upwards,"  like  Lear  —  and  like  Lear,  too, 4>  mightily  abused"  — 
ever  having  been  called  Jerry  —  Jerry  —  after  he  had  written 
"  Morals  and  Legislation,"  the  "  Defence  of  Usury,"  and  other 
works  of  a  similar  character,  tickled  me  prodigiously,  though 
Dr.  Parr  always  called  him  not  only  Jerry,  but  Master  Jerry, 
to  his  dying  day.  "  He  made  another  will,"  added  Mr. 
Bentham,  "  and  left  out  the  name  of  Christ."  I  did  more 
than  smile  now  ;  I  laughed  outright.  The  idea  of  taking 
that  for  a  measure  of  improvement  in  philosophy  was  yet 
more  diverting  than  the  other.  But  he  was  perfectly  serious. 
And,  by  the  way,  this  reminds  me  that  Mr.  Solicitor  Parkes, 
author  of  the  "  History  of  Chancery,"  who  married  an  American 
wife,  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Priestley,  told  me,  one  day,  when  we 
were  canvassing  the  past  of  Benthamism,  and  casting  his 
horoscope  for  the  future,  that,  when  he  was  a  boy,  Dr.  Pan- 
told  him  to  read  the  works  of  Bentham,  as  the  greatest  man 
that  ever  lived  ;  and  that,  not  long  before,  a  clergyman,  a  very 
clever  fellow,  and  a  fine  scholar,  who  was  not  suspected  by 
Mr.  P.  to  know  any  thing  of  Benthamism,  in  reply  to  some 
question  as  to  what  book,  for  the  last  hundred  years,  had  done 
most  for  the  mind,  and  showed  most  power  and  originality, 
answered,  without  hesitation,  "  Bentham's  Morals  and  Legis- 


JEREMY    BEXTHAM.  309 

lation :  "  adding  that  Dr.  Parr  had  told  him  to  read  it  many 
years  before;  that  he  read  it  aecordimilv,  and  never  had  but 
one  opinion  of  it  since. 

Said  Brougham,  June  "2d.  1818.  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
i%  I  agree  with  my  honorable  friend,  the  member  for  Arundel, 
Sir  Samuel  Romillv.  who  looked  up  tit  Mr.  Hentham  with  the 
almost  filial  re  re  re  tire  of  a  pupil  for  his  tutor  " 

The  following  memorandum,  in  this  connection,  may  be 
worth  preserving:  — 

••  MarrJt  '11 .  18*27. — To-day.  Mr.  Gallatin,  who  is  a  native, 
as  everybody  knows,  of  (ieneva.  spoke  to  me  of  his  townsman 
and  old  assoeiate.  Dumout.  Burr,  whom  lie  ealled  an  ambitious 
man.  with  a  shrug  and  a  smile,  gave  him.  in  171).').  the  first 
work  of  Bentham's  hi-  had  ever  met  with,  to  read.  It  was  the 
Knglish  quarto  on  ••  Moral-  and  Legislation."  saying" here  — 
this  will  please  you  ;  it  is  too  dry  for  me."  Sinee  which,  Mr. 
Gallatin  had  read  every  thing  of  Bentham's.  except  some  of 
his  last  works,  which  he  could  not  net  hold  of.  lie  said. 

A  striking  incident,  on  the  whole  ;  for  Bentham's  acquaint 
ance  with  Burr  grew  out  of  the  fact,  that  a  stranger  had  left 
orders  with  Mr.  Bentham's  bookseller  to  send  him  everv  thing 
of  Bentham's  that  was  to  be  had.  The  stranger  was  Aaron 
Burr,  then  shipwrecked,  impoverished,  and  almost  suffering 
from  want;  and  yet.  having  reached  maturity,  unable  to 
forego  the  strongest  and  driest  Benthamism,  which,  in  1793, 
twenty  years  before,  had  been  too  much  for  him.  Mr. 
Bentham,  having  heard  that  he  was  an  American,  and  exceed 
ingly  clever,  though  he  had  no  idea  it  was  Burr,  invited  him 
to  Queen-Square  Place,  and  gave  him  apartments,  the  same 
he  afterward  gave  me.  where  he  stayed  till  he  left  England 
for  ever. 

Bentham's  unrelenting  hostility,  to  what  he  called  judge- 
made  law  and  lawyers,  which  resulted  in  the  great  changes 
we  are  all  profiting  by.  grew  out  of  a  little  incident,  which 
occurred  in  the  very  first  case  he  ever  undertook  :  and  he 
never  meddled  with  another.  "  All  reports  were  in  manu 
script  then.''  said  he.  •'  On  a  particular  occasion.  I  was  applied 
to  in  a  matter  of  consequence.  I  gave  a  legal  opinion,  which 
turned  out  not  to  be  law,  at  the  time,  though  not  long  before 
it  was  law  ;  the  law  having  been  changed,  by  judicial 


310  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

decisions,  without  my  knowledge  or  consent !  I  refused  to 
give  any  opinion  after  this.  The  case  was  then  put  into  the 
hands  of  Lord  Kenyon.  who  also  gave  an  opinion.  I  lost: 
he  gained.  lie  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  was  paid  for 
proving  MS  much,  at  the  party's  cost.  I  acknowledged,  at  once, 
that  I  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  suffered  by  proving  the 
wherefore,  at  my  own  cost." 

And  here,  by  way  of  a  snapper,  let  me  mention  two  or  three 
little  incidents,  which  have  just  occurred  to  me,  before  I  am 
off  to  Paris. 

One  day,  a  young,  bilious-looking,  bony,  dark-eyed,  young 
man.  with  stiff'  black  hair,  introduced  himself  to  me  as  Sumner 
Lincoln  Fairfield,  just  out.  He  had  no  letters  ;  but  had 
somewhere  met  my  sister.  He  was  in  a  terrible  condition, 
friendless  and  helpless  ;  having  been  obliged  to  pawn  his 
cloak,  a  miserable  Scotch-plaid,  as  I  had  occasion  to  know, 
after  it  was  redeemed.  He  had  come  to  London  to  seek 
his  fortune,  as  a  literary  man  —  without  a  shilling  in  his 
pocket,  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  days  ;  and,  worse  than  all, 
he  had  brought  his  mother  with  him,  and  both  were  on  their 
way  to  La  Grange,  on  a  visit  to  Lafayette ;  General  Lincoln, 
the  grandfather  of  our  poet,  being  an  old  friend  of  our  second 
Washington.  Having  heard  his  story,  and  told  him  there  was 
no  opening  for  a  friendless  and  penniless  author,  and  that  the 
best  thing  he  and  his  mother  could  do,  would  be  to  go  back, 
on  any  terms,  by  the  first  vessel,  I  emptied  my  pockets  into  his 

—  literally  —  for  I  was  left  without  a  guinea  —  took  some  of 
his   poetry   to   read,   which    was   really  very  fine  —  very  — 
though  rather  gloomy  and  melo-dramatic,  and  then  set  off, 
with  him  to  see  his  mother.     I  found  them  in  cheap  lodgings 

—  the  cheapest,  I  might  say  —  the  mother  at  a  wash-tub  in 
their  sitting-room  ;  but  cheerful,  and  I  thought  hopeful,  having 
such  a  son  to  boast  off.     The  next  I  knew  of  my  gentleman, 
he    had    called    on    Mr.    Thomas    Campbell,    of   the    "  New 
Monthly,"  and  offered  him  a  set  of  newspaper -sketches  and 
personalities,    which    had   already   appeared    in    a    Wiscasset 
paper ;  and  when  I  remonstrated  with  him  for  offering  what 
was    not   original,   he    answered.  u  Not  original !      Certainly 
they  are  original:    I  wrote  them  myself." — "Yes:  but  they 
have  been  published  already."  —  "  Well,  what  difference  does 


SUMNER    LINCOLN    FAIRFIELD.  311 

that  make  ?  He  never  saw  them,  and  I  have  copied  them 
with  the  greatest  care."  They  were  utterly  worthless,  even 
if  new,  and  wholly  unfitted  tor  a  magazine,  1  took  the 
liberty  of  telling  him,  as  plainly  a<  I  durst,  under  the  circum 
stances  ;  though  I  did  not  say  what  was  true  enough  —  that 
they  were  not  worthy  of  a  village-newspaper.  A  poet  he 
certainly  was  :  but  a  wretched  prose-writer,  being  always  on 
stilts,  or  trying  to  be  severe  and  funny. 

One  day,  when  he  was  with  me,  gloating  over  his  prospects 
with  the  '•  New  Monthly.''  and  attributing  m'v  advice  to  sheer 
envy,  or  jealousy.  I  have  no  doubt.  Mr.  liowrin^  happened  to 
drop  in,  and  1  introduced  Fail-field  to  him.  as  a  literary 
brother  from  over  sea.  This  led  to  a  dinner-invitation  for 
both,  where  Mr.  F.  took  the  liberty  of  so  In-praising  me  before 
a  number  of  distinguished  men  —  IJuckingham.  the  Oriental 
Traveller,  who  had  been  in  America,  and.  at  one  time,  had 
commanded  a  ship  out  of  Norfolk,  Ya..  among  the  re>t  —  that 
I  felt  ashamed  of  him.  and  was  obliged  to  shut  him  up.  bv  pre 
tending  to  take  it  all  as  a  .joke.  Among  other  pleasant  things, 
he  told  the  company  that  he  had  always  regarded  me  as 
"grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar."  and  loved  to  imagine  me 
riding  alone  at  midnight  on  a  coal-black  steed.  &c.,  tkic.,  till  he 
had  learned  to  know  me  better. 

Soon  after  this,  1  had  a  lamentable  cry  from  him  —  a  wail 
in  writing,  such  as  1  had  never  seen  before  —  saying  that  he 
was  utterly  destitute,  hopeless,  and  sick,  at  a  village  six  or 
eight  miles  out  of  London.  I  took  a  carriage,  and  went  out 
to  see  him  at  once,  and  found  him  perfectly  well,  in  pretty 
lodgings,  with  his  slippered  feet  on  the  fender,  and  every  thing 
comfortable  about  him.  This.  I  acknowledge,  was  a  little  too 
much  ;  and  so  I  left  him  for  ever,  slipping  into  his  hand,  as  I 
bade  him  good-by.  what  might  have  passed  for  a  physician's  fee. 

Soon  after  this,  understanding  that  he  was  quite  serious  in 
his  determination  to  visit  La  Grange,  with  his  mother,  I  wrote 
the  general,  to  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  authorizing  him  to 
give  up  my  name  at  his  discretion.  This.  I  managed  to  let 
Mr.  Fairfield  know,  in  season  to  spare  him  the  mortification, 
which  I  foresaw  was  inevitable  :  for.  at  the  time.  La  Grange 
was  literally  overrun  with  visitors  from  America,  who  were 
eating  the  proprietor  out  of  house  and  home,  on  the  strength 


312  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  a  Congressional  grant  But  —  would  you  believe  it  ?  —  Mr. 
Fairh'eld  went,  nevertheless  ;  and  took  his  mother  with  him.  and 
for  the  sake  of  his  grandfather.  General  Lincoln,  Lafayette's 
old  companion  in  arms,  was  kindly  received,  and,  after  a  while, 
sent  home,  by  subscription,  among  the  friends  of  Lafayette, 
in  a  vessel  from  Havre. 

Another  case,  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  relating  just 
here,  since  it  involved  me,  somewhat  as  my  championship  of 
Bowring  had.  when  he  was  called  to  account  in  the  House-of- 
Commons,  and  by  the  leading  newspapers,  for  his  management 
of  the  Greek  loan. 

One  day,  Mr.  Pelby,  the  actor,  whom  I  had  known  in  Balti 
more,  and  on  who^e  account  I  had  a  flare-up  with  Wood,  the 
manager,  called  upon  me,  without  notice,  to  say  that  he  had 
come  over  to  play  Hamlet  on  the  very  stage  where  John 
Kemble,  and  Kean,  and  Young  had  achieved  their  greatest 
triumphs.  Having  seen  him  out  of  the  Baltimore  scrape, 
where  he  was  not  well  treated,  though  AVood  gave  me  all  I 
asked  for.  in  his  behalf,  and  he  played  Hamlet  with  success, 
I  undertook  to  obtain  a  hearing  for  him  at  Drury-Lane,  or 
Covent-Garden,  I  forget  which.  I  succeeded  :  he  played 
this  part,  and  played  it  well,  and  was  handsomely  treated  by 
the  newspaper  critics,  one  of  whom,  by  the  way,  mistook  the 
night,  and  showed  he  was  not  there.  But  this  did  not  satisfy 
the  ambitious  Mr.  Pelby.  He  wanted  an  engagement,  which, 
of  course,  I  could  not  help  him  in  obtaining,  or  at  least  the  run 
of  the  kitchen,  so  that  he  might  have  full  swing,  "  like  a  bull  in 
a  china-shop."  While  I  was  negotiating  for  another  appear 
ance,  with  a  reasonable  prospect,  in  addition,  of  at  least  a  short 
engagement,  he  called  to  tell  me  how  shamefully  he  had  been 
treated  by  some  of  the  committee.  I  was  in  a  rage,  of  course, 
and  lost  no  time  in  ascertaining  the  truth.  To  my  unspeak 
able  amazement  and  vexation,  I  found  that  he  had  been 
making  use  of  me  in  a  way  I  had  never  dreamed  of,  and  that, 
in  a  word,  I  had  been  grossly  deceived.  From  that  moment. 
I  refused  to  have  any  thing  more  to  do  with  the  fellow.  Yet 
he  persisted  in  calling  —  only  to  be  refused  admission  — until 
one  day  I  met  him  in  the  Park,  and  he  had  the  kindness  to 
say  that  he  had  just  left  my  lodgings,  in  Queen-Square  Place  ; 
that  he  had  called  a  number  of  times,  but  could  never  find  me 


I'ELr.Y;  ROBERT  OVTEX  ;  JOHN  DUXX  HUNTER.    313 

at  home,  and  that  he  had  ever  so  much  to  tell  me,  of  the  ill- 
treatment  he  had  received  from  the  managers  and  committee. 
1  stopped  him  in  the  midst  of  his  voluminous  out-pourings  ; 
and  told  him.  if  he  had  any  thin":  to  say  to  me.  it  must  be  in 
writing.  lie  stared  ;  and  then  said,  with  a  lordly  air  I  never 
can  think  of.  without  laughing,  that  "  he  had  110  idea  of  conunit- 
tiiKj  himself.'11 

But  enough.  These  are  but  samples  of  what  I  had  to 
endure  from  several  of  my  bashful,  enterprising  countrvmen, 
while  abroad  :  though  not  a  fe\v.  like  Sullv.  and  llackett,  and 
Harding,  and  West,  of  Kentucky.  1  had  not  only  the  pleasure 
of  helping,  when  they  most  needed  help,  in  one  way  or  another, 
but  a  pride  in  helping,  to  the  utmost  of  my  abilitv. 

At  this  moment,  my  attention  has  been  called  to  the 
signature  of  Robert  Owen,  of  Lanark  and  New- Harmony, 
father  of  Robert  Dale  Owen,  and  the  most  thorough-bred 
Yankee,  in  appearance,  language,  and  general  character,  I 
ever  met  with,  out  of  New-England.  Resembling  Henry  Clay 
in  countenance  and  person,  overflowing  with  benevolence, 
a  quiet,  unrelenting  enthusiast,  he  went  into  his  grave, 
thoroughly  persuaded  that.  lon<i  before  this  time,  the  streets 
of  London  would  be  overgrown  with  grass,  and  the  Royal- 
Exchange,  the  palaces,  the  cathedrals,  and  churches,  the  piles 
of  architecture,  and  monuments,  and  squares,  would  have  to  be 
dug  out,  or  hunted  for,  as  in  Babylon  the  Great. 

One  more  hurried  sketch  of  a  fellow  sufficiently  notorious, 
and  associated  with  Mr.  Owen,  as  a  philanthropist  for  the 
restoration  of  our  Indian  tribes,  and  I  am  off  to  Paris.  John 
Dunn  Hunter,  the  inventor  of  '•  Hunter's  Narrative  " —  and,  for 
a  time,  the  wonder  of  the  day  —  is  the  man.  lie  had 
lodgings  in  the  same  house  with  me,  occupying  an  apartment 
over  me,  in  the  third  story,  and  was  on  familiar  terms  with 
the  Duke  of  Sussex,  Mr.  Coke,  of  Norfolk.  Karl  of  Leicester 
before  he  died,  and  others  ;  all  owing  to  the  fact.  that,  on  his 
arrival  in  London,  he  happened  to  secure  lodgings  in  Warwick- 
Street.  Pall-Mail,  where  Washington  Irving  had  written  the 
<k  Sketch-Book,"  and  where  he  met  with  a  credulous,  warm 
hearted  young  fellow  from  Norfolk,  near  Ilolkham.  by  the  name 
of  Norgate.  Having  been  a  neighbor  and  constituent  of  Mr. 
Coke,  and  being  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  family,  where 


314  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

he  had  met  with  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  and  others  of  the 
highest  rank,  he  invited  Hunter  to  go  down  with  him  to  his 
father's,  and  soon  after  introduced  him  to  that  princely  es 
tablishment.  While  there,  he  saw  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  who 
believed  the  story  he  told,  in  his  new  '•  Robinson  Crusoe,''  and 
encouraged  him  to  visit  Kensington-Palace.  Out  of  this, 
grew  Che.-ter  Harding's  acquaintance  with  the  duke,  and,  in 
time,  with  Mr.  Coke  ;  and  then  followed  their  portraits, 
which  gave  Harding  a  position  he  never  lost.  Out  of  such 
trivial  incidents,  what  strange  results  may  issue!  Had  not 
Hunter  accidentally  met  with  Norgate,  and  had  not  Norgate 
been  from  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Ilolkham,  he  would 
never  have  had  access  to  Mr.  Coke,  nor  to  the  Duke  of 
Sussex,  nor  to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton;  and  Chester  Harding 
would  never  have  ptiinted  either,  and  might  have  been  obliged 
to  go  home,  without  having  been  heard  of,  among  the  magnates 
of  the  British  empire. 

Let  me  add  here,  that,  before  I  left  England,  I  took  care  to 
expose  the  wicked  and  foolish  imposture  of  Mr.  John  Dunn 
Hunter,  and  to  disabuse  many  of  his  best  friends,  and,  among 
others,  the  Duke  of  Sussex.  Mr.  Coke,  of  Norfolk  (Lord 
Leicester),  Mr.  Joshua  Bates,  the  banker,  Robert  Owen,  of 
Lanark,  and  Mr.  Norgate,  in  the  "  London  Magazine."  This 
was  followed  by  a  similar  exposure,  in  a  more  serious 
vein,  by  the  late  Dr.  Sparks,  in  the  "  North-American 
Review,"  on  the  authority  of  no  less  a  personage  than  General 
Cass,  our  Secretary  of  War,  or  Indian  Agent,  I  forget  which, 
at  the  time,  who  declared  that  no  such  Indians  had  ever  lived, 
to  his  knowledge,  and  no  man  had  ever  such  opportunities  of 
knowing,  as  Hunter  had  pictured  in  his  "  Narrative,"  and 
talked  about,  up  to  the  time  when  he  so  suddenly  disappeared 
from  London  society,  freighted  with  highly  finished,  compli 
cated,  and  costly  agricultural  implements,  furnished  by  Mr. 
Coke,  for  the  savage  tribes  Hunter  was  going  to  humanize, 
and  bring  into  a  great  Indian  Confederacy  ;  together  with  a 
gold  watch  and  platina  guard,  from  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  and 
various  contributions  in  cash,  to  be  deposited  with  his  "bank 
er"  in  Wall-Street,  New-York ! 


PARIS.  315 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
r  A  K  i  s. 


iNO:  GKI.AT  msrovKKY:  "MGGFK"  SHOOTING  BY  A  CAKKFTL 
.MAN:  AI>YF.XTFI:I:  \VITII  A  FKF.NCII  HKAGGAKT:   no.v  rni:  CONCEIT  \v.\s 

TAKKN   OFT    OF   ME    AT    ANGKLo's    KooMS,    I,ON1>ON;      AM>    HOW   THE    CoN- 

qi*F.i;ou  GOT  HIS  ••  COME  ui's  :  "  PROPOSITIONS  OF  MA.JOK  NO\II:  POOK 

GRAHAM;      LAW     I.IHKAKV     OIJDKKI  .1  >     To     NEW-YORK:     C(  ).M  1!IN  ATIoN     To 
DRIVE    MK    oFT    OF     PORTLAND;    .STREET    SO.T  A  P.  P.LES  :     1  1  \  X  I  )  III  LLs  ;    THE 

HON.    .STEPHEN    JONES.   M.D.:    DKADLY    rKi..M'i>K  i:  :   O;:IGIX   TIIKUKOF; 

mX'LAKKl)      A      I.FNATIC       I'.Y       IMHX  I.  A  M  ATIoN  :       F.STAllUSM       GYMNASIA; 
TEACH    HOXIN(;  AM)    FENCING;    A  UOLIT  K  ).MS  TS  1'U  T  To  Til  El  I:  TKUMl'S. 

IlAViN<r  left  England,  not  fur  ever,  ;i>  I  then  believed,  but 
only  for  n  season,  and  having  entered  France,  with  a  detenni- 
mition  to  see  for  myself,  and  judize  for  myself,  by  studying  the 
pulsations  of  Paris,  at  my  leisure,  1  lost  no  time  in  visiting 
the  palaces  and  monuments,  the  Louvre,  the  courts,  the  halls 
of  legislation,  and  whatever  else  miirht  be  found  typical  of  the 
nation  ;  but,  excuse  me.  I  have  no  idea  of  telling  what  I 
saw,  nor  of  dribbling  out  my  experiences  and  opinions,  after 
the  fashion  of  those  who  go  about  doing  the  world  by  King 
doms  and  States  —  to  say  nothing  of  landlords,  or  lodging- 
houses  —  as  you  would  photograph  all  Europe,  while  drifting 
over  it  in  a  balloon,  before  a  hurricane. 

Of  all  that  I  saw,  and  suffered,  or  enjoyed,  while  in  Paris,  I 
have  nothing  to  say.  I  am  not  writing  for  the  newspapers, 
I  am  onlv  talking  about  myself  —  to  my.-elf  ;  and  yet  there  are 
two  or  three  little  incidents.  I  would  not  whollv  overlook,  as 
they  go.  the  one  to  illustrate,  and  the  other  to  explain,  much 
that  I  have  said  alreadv.  or  shall  have  to  say  hereafter. 

It  may  be  remembered,  that,  although  I  had  been  addicted 
to  pistol-firing,  when  a  boy,  I  was  always  a  bungler,  not 
being  sure  of  hitting  a  barn-door  —  I  miirlit  say.  of  fclclunq  a 
two-story  house,  at  any  reasonable  distance.  But  one  day, 
when  I  was  practising  in  a  pistol-gallery  on  Moiitmartre, 


316  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

one  of  the  fortified  heights  overlooking  that  Paris  which  the 
citizen  King,  not  long  afterward,  was  believed  to  hold  in  sub 
jection  by  these  batteries  alone.  I  had  what  was  indeed  a  revela 
tion —  a  flash  only  —  but  just  what  I  wanted  for  a  proper 
understanding  of  myself,  and  of  the  possibilities  in  my  way, 
as  a  marksman.  I  saw  a  number  of  military  men,  and  half  a 
dozen  civilians,  firing  at  a  mark,  thirty  paces  off,  with  such  uni 
form  success,  that,  although  I  saw  nothing  to  be  compared  with 
the  stories  which  I  had  been  told  by  others,  or  had  met  with  in 
print,  I  was  both  astonished  and  perplexed.  A  large  iron 
target  was  set  up,  with  a  spot  in  the  centre,  which  might  have 
passed  for  the  bull's  eye.  When  fairly  struck,  a  little  figure, 
with  a  trumpet,  appeared  on  the  top  of  the  target,  as  if  to 
announce  the  result.  Many  wild  shots,  reminding  me  of  my 
own,  while  a  boy,  were  made  ;  but  again  and  again  the  bull's 
eye  was  fairly  struck,  and  the  little  figure  started  up  to  pro 
claim  the  fact.  A  young  man  was  with  me,  from  Philadelphia, 
by  the  name  of  Barrabino,  who  had  seen  a  good  deal  of 
practice  in  this  way.  He  was  far  from  being  a  good  shot ;  and 
two  or  three  times,  by  the  merest  accident  however.  I  beat 
him.  At  last,  while  I  was  levelling  my  pistol  with  great 
deliberation  at  the  mark,  something  —  I  know  not  what  —  led 
me  to  shut  up  the  left  eye,  instead  of  the  right,  which  I  had 
been  exercising  with,  and  I  fairly  hit  the  centre.  Could  it 
be  !  Had  I  always  been  shutting  up  the  wrong  eye  ?  the 
right  eye,  instead  of  the  left  ?  Even  so  :  the  right  being  the 
stronger,  and  always  the  more  manageable,  I  had  probably 
closed  it,  in  my  boyhood,  when  firing  at  a  mark,  and  not  hav 
ing  had  an  opportunity,  till  now,  of  trying  any  experiments, 
might  have  gone  to  my  grave  without  understanding  why  it 
was,  that,  with  good  eye-sight  and  steady  nerves,  1  could  not 
fetch  a  barn-door;  just  as,  in  learning  to  swim,  I  had  come  to 
believe,  at  one  time,  that  it  wasn't  in  me,  that  there  was 
some  natural  impediment  in  the  way,  till  I  threw  myself  head 
first  into  the  sea  at  Robinson's-Wharf,  on  a  dark  night,  with  no 
companion,  and  nobody  near  enough  to  help  me,  if  I  sank  or 
floundered.  From  that  time  forward,  although  I  never 
practised  much  —  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  times,  and  then, 
only  at  long  intervals  —  I  found  no  difficulty  in  hitting  an  object 
of  a  reasonable  size,  within  a  reasonable  distance ;  in  short, 


"  NIGGER  "-SHOOTING  ;    NARROW    KSCAPK.  317 

although  far  from  being  a  crack  shot.  I  was  undoubtedly  a  fair 
average  shot,  even  with  old  stagers,  and  militarv  men.  and 
might  liave  become  a  proficient,  if  1  had  believed  it  worth 
while,  or  if  circumstances  had  made  it  necessarv.  The  last 
practice  I  had  was  on  my  way  home.  We  used  to  ri^  an  oar 
to  the  studd'm  '-sail  boom,  tie  a  shingle  to  the  end  of  the  oar.  let 
it  swing"  in  the  wind,  and  bla/e  away,  at  the  ureatest  possible 
distance.  A\  e  had  two  passengers.  I>arrabino.  and  a  voung 
New-Yorker,  named  Lawrence,  a  newly  Hedged  diplomatist, 
who  valued  themselves  on  their  pistol-firing.  With  them.  I 
practised,  until  1  got  frightened  off,  by  the  careless  handling 
of  a  hair-trigger,  with  Lawrence  ;  but  I  cannot  say  that  we 
e\er  made  any  remarkable  shots,  or  that  we  ever  hit  the 
shingle.  A  decided  enthusiast  was  our  friend  Lawrence;  a 
kind-hearted,  refined,  gentlemanly  fellow,  always  popping 
astern  at  Mother  Carey's  chickens,  or  letting  drive  at  the  por 
poises  under  our  bow.  with  a  capital  fowling-piece,  which  he 
had  brought  with  him.  I  do  believe,  for  no  other  purpose.  On 
remonstrating  with  him  one  day  about  his  carelessness  with  a 
hair-trigner.  while  the  passengers  and  sailors  were  moving 
about,  he  said.  ••  I  am  verv  careful,  rcn/  ;  and  have  ijood 
reason  to  be  so.  for  I  shot  a  poor  '  nigirer  '  one  dav.  at  my 
father's.  I  was  doinu'  >omethin^  to  the  Kick  of  that  very  fowl 
ing-piece,  and  it  went  oil',  and  the  chargt there  happened  to 

be  a  ball  in  it  —  went  through  the  ceiling,  and  hit  a  poor  fel 
low  in  the  room  overhead/' —  "  With  what  result  ?" —  ••  I  do  not 
now  remember  :  it  was  when  I  was  quite  a  bov."  AVithin 
three  days  after  this,  he  went  below,  after  popping,  till  he  was 
tired,  at  a  flock  of  Mother  Carey's  chickens  ;  and.  after  a  few 
minute*.  I  heard  an  explosion,  followed  by  outcries,  and  a 
smothered  scream.  But  for  the  strangest  providence,  he 
would  have  blown  the  captain's  head  oh1'  his  shoulders.  Jt 
seems  that  he  sat  down  in  the  cabin,  to  tinker  the  lock  of  his 
fowling-piece  :  it  went  off:  and  blew  a  hole  through  a  board 
partition,  against  which  Captain  Clarke  had  been  leaning,  half- 
asleep,  a  few  minutes  before,  with  his  ear  just  opposite  the 
hole  it  made  :  tore  through  a  looking-glass,  and  sent  the  charge 
ploughing  along  the  top  of  the  captain's  berth,  into  which  he  had 
just  thrown  himself,  to  finish  his  nap.  Two  or  three  minutes 
earlier,  and  the  poor  fellow's  brains  would  have  been  spattered 


318  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

over  the  same  place.  The  captain,  a  tough  old  Scotchman, 
was  terribly  frightened,  though  unhurt ;  a  single  drop  of 
blood,  caused  by  a  single  shot,  which  I  took  out  of  his  hair, 
being  all  that  we  could  find.  It  had  evidently  rebounded 
from  the  ceiling  of  his  berth.  So  much  for  being  made  care 
ful  by  shooting  •'  niggers  "  in  boyhood. 

The  other  incident,  I  have  thought  worth  mentioning, 
before  I  come  back  to  my  native  land,  was  the  following. 
One  day,  this  very  Barrabino,  who  had  often  heard  me  speak 
of  my  small-sword  playing,  called  upon  me  at  Havre,  where 
we  were  waiting  for  the  ship  to  sail,  and  showed  me  a  chal 
lenge  to  all  the  world,  from  a  tnaitre  d'armes  en  fait,  who  had 
just  opened  a  fencing-school,  in  a  neighboring  street.  *•  Here's 
your  chance  !  — just  what  you  want,"  said  Barrabino.  "  What 
say  you  to  calling  on  the  gentleman,  at  his  satte  d'armes,  and 
taking  up  the  glove  ?  "  —  "  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I,  "  and  the 
sooner,  the  better." — ki  Capital  fun  !  "  lie  replied  :  "  we  couldn't 
spend  an  hour  more  agreeably  ;  and  I  want  to  see  your  play." 
—  u  You  will  take  a  foil  with  the  blusterer  ?  "  said  I.  —  "  Oh, 
no  !  excuse  me :  I  was  never  good  for  much  with  the  foils, 
and  just  now  am  all  out  of  practice." — '•  Very  well :  be  it  so  ; 
but  you  can  go  with  me  and  see  fair  play."  —  •'  Certainly." 
And  we  went. 

We  found  the  gentleman  armed  and  equipped,  as  the  law 
directs,  and  pacing  the  stone-floor  of  his  apartment,  with 
quite  a  military  air.  He  was  alone,  and  evidently  out  of 
temper.  I  didn't  half  like  his  looks,  and  aft>-r  a  little  conver 
sation  witli  him,  which,  failed  to  re-assure  me,  I  said  to  Bar 
rabino,  "  That  fellow  means  mischief:  his  eyes  are  constantly 
wandering  to  the  wall,  where  you  see  the  chasse-coqiiins 
arranged  —  stiff  clumsy  foils,  which  these  fencing-ma-ters 
often  use  with  the  inexperienced  and  presumptuous  ;  punching 
them  in  the  ribs  to  their  heart's  content,  and  to  the  un-peakable 
amusement  of  bystanders  and  amateurs.  If  he  dares  to 
engage  me  with  one  of  those  iron  pokers,  you  will  see  some 
rough  play."  —  "  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  —  u  Teach  him 
better  manners,  or  run  him  through  the  body,"  said  I.  —  "But 
how,  if  the  foils  are  buttoned?" — "  Wait  and  see." 

And,  sure  enough,  the  scoundrel  did  engage  me  with  a  chasse- 
coquin,  the  stiffest  he  could  find,  I  dare  say,  and  without  a 


PARTS;  FENCING;  A  CHALLENGE.  319 

plastron.  After  we  had  interchanged  a  few  thrusts  and 
parries,  I  gave  a  COUJH.'.  and  hinged  out  with  all  my  strength, 
hitting  him  on  the  breast,  and  bending  my  foil,  within  a  few 
inches  of  the  point,  so  that.  if.  I  had  persisted.  I  might  have 
snapped  it  oiV.  and  finished  the  business,  in  a  way  he  was 
little  prepared  for.  mueh  as  lie  deserved  it. 

The  fellow  seemed  quite  surprised,  but  still  persisted. 
Whereupon,  after  a  little  bantering.  1  lunged  a^ain.  with  all 
my  strength,  and  broke  my  foil,  yet  nearer  the  point,  and 
pricked  him  slightly,  just  under  the  sword-arm.  Barrahiuo 
looked  frightened,  and  the  man  himself  nor  a  little  astonished. 
lie  dropped  his  point,  and  I  mine.  "  lie  lien  !  Monsieur" 
said  he.  *•//<'  blot!"  I  replied,  ••  courage .'  al'cz  ton j  ours  !  n 
l>ut  no.  He  began  to  have  his  mis<nvinu's.  and  a  parley 
ensued.  lie  desired  to  know  if  I  was  a  professeur.  No, 
indeed  !  I  was  onlv  an  amateur.  lie  .-hook  his  head  :  1 
smiled.  "  Do  you  know.'*  said  I.  "  what  a  narrow  escape  you 
have  had!'''  And  then  I  t-  np  and  told  him."  His  counte 
nance  changed.  "  And  now."  said  I.  "do  you  know  why  you 
have  not  been  able  to  touch  me,  ferraiHexr  that  you  are?"  — 
k>  Would  Monsieur  be  so  obliging  as  to  explain  ?"  He  looked 
so  ashamed  and  mortified,  that  I  could  not  help  explaining. 
'•You  lunire  too  short,  sir:  your-  arc1  half-lunges  only."  — 
'•  Verv  tnir,"  said  the  poor  fellow  ;  "  but  the  fact  is.  I  have 
had  a  bail  in  my  knee,  and  cannot  lunge  out." — '•  Zounds  and 
death  !  And  yet  you  have  the  impudence  to  challenge  the 
world  !"•  —  "  Ah  !  Monsieur,  il  font  r/r;v."  1  was  strongly 
tempted  to  say.  as  the  magistrate  did  to  the  highway-robber, 
who  urged  the  same  plea.  k%  Je  nc  rois  pas  la  Jiecessite"  and 
ordered  him  for  execution  forthwith ;  but  I  forebore.  Tiie 
blockhead  beini^.  at  best,  but  a  fourth-rate  player,  and  wishing 
to  create  a  sensation,  had  issued  the  handbill,  I  saw,  deter 
mined  to  run  for  luck,  and  either  "  rnak"  a  spoon  or  spoil  a 
horn."  as  the  Scotch  have  it.  Une  lei'ce  dv  boucliers,  indeed, 
•was  it  not  ? 

But  stay  :  I  must  give  another  adventure  that  occurred  to 
me  in  London,  though  rather  out  of  place  here. 

'•  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  try  the  foil,  sir."  said  An^elo, 
to  whom  I  had  just  been  introduced  by  Leslie,  the  painter, 
who  visited  his  rooms  occasionally,  under  pretence  of  takinfr 


320  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

lessons,  and  went  through  the  motions  ;  nothing  more.  He 
was  no  swordsman  :  though  lie  mu<le  believe  very  hard,  like 
the  Marchioness,  when  trying  to  make  lemon-peel  and  water 
pass  for  punch. 

"  With  all  my  heart."  said  I.  having,  on  the  whole,  a  pretty 
good  opinion  of  myself,  and  supposing  he  had  invited  me  to  a 
regular  set-to.  But  no  :  he  did  not  otter  me  a  mask  ;  and  I 
saw,  therefore,  that  he  only  meant  to  put  me  through  my 
paces.  After  I  had  taken  the  mur*  and  gone  through  with  a 
series  of  lunges  and  passes,  at  the  word  of  command,  he 
dropped  the  point  of  his  foil,  and  complimented  me  hand 
somely  on  my  carriage,  bearing,  quickness  of  eye,  and  pre 
cision  of  touch  ;  and  then  added.  *•  Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
take  a  foil  with  some  of  these  gentlemen  ? "  I  bowed. 
And  after  looking  about,  as  if  to  find  some  player  disengaged 
—  for  it  was  a  sort  of  field-day  with  him.  as  I  had  reason  to 
know  before  I  had  finished  —  he  beckoned  to  a  small,  pleasant 
looking,  snugly  built  young  man.  whom  he  introduced  to  me  as 
Mr.  Wood.  Preliminaries  were  soon  adjusted,  though  I 
declined  peeling,  and  would  not  even  exchange  my  boots  for 
sandals;  and  we  went  to  work.  And  the  result  was  —  to  my 
unspeakable  mortification  —  that,  before  ten  minutes  were  over, 
he  had  given  me  such  a  confounded  licking,  that  I  was  almost 
ready  to  question  mv  own  identity  ;  and  that,  too,  in  the  very 
style  I  had  planned  for  taking  the  conceit  out  of  him,  as  I  had 
before,  out  of  twenty  others,  at  least,  by  making  all  my  home- 
thrusts  with  one-two.  But,  hang  the  fellow  !  I  had  no  chance 
with  him.  His  one-two  wras  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  he 
hit  me  almost  as  often  as  he  tried  ;  while  I  do  not  believe  that 
I  hit  him  once,  fairly  and  plumply.  lie  was  kind  enougn  to 
attribute  my  failure  to  my  boots,  and  again  urged  me  to  try  the 
sandals.  But  no  !  I  had  got  my  money's  worth,  and  more 
than  I  had  bargained  for  ;  and,  being  determined  "  to  see  it  out," 
I  entered  at  once  with  Angelo  as  a  pupil,  and  on  the  spot, 
engaged  Mr.  Wood  for  my  partner  on  all  future  occasions. 

Not  long  after  this  —  within  a  week  or  two.  at  farthest,  I 
should  say  —  in  passing  through  a  broad,  handsome  street, 
I  saw  the  sign  of  "  Roland  —  Fencing,"  and  dropped  in,  to  ask 
what  he  had  to  say  for  himself,  and  was  invited,  in  the  same 
way  as  at  Angelo's,  to  take  a  foil  with  somebody ;  and  when  I 


LONDON;   SMALL-SWORD.  321 

consented,  and  that  somebody  was  called  out,  who  should 
appear  —  bless  you  —  but  the  very  same  Mr.  Wood  !  At  first, 
J  felt  puzzled,  and  somewhat  ••  flabbergasted."  as  they  say  iu  the 
national  cock-pit,  when  a  member  cannot  manage  to  count  the 
speaker:  but.  upon  further  acquaintance,  I  found  that  our  Mr. 
Wood  was  the  pet  <  f  the  "  fancv,''  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  to 
be  found,  and  a  painter  in  water-colors,  who  passed  alternate 
afternoons  with  An^elo's  and  Roland's  best  men,  keeping  the 
iield  against  all  strangers. 

"  Very  well.''  said  I  to  myself.  "  There  is  something  worth 
living  for.  even  vet:  all  mv  experience  heretofore  may  not 
be  entirely  worthless:  and  I  must  persevere  with  Mr.  Wood, 
until  I  can  deal  with  him.  as  he  has  dealt  with  me."  We  had 
another  set-t •>,  and  though  I  was  rather  more  successful  than 
before,  still  he  beat  me  cruelly,  and,  what  was  harder  to  bear, 
not  by  a  coupe,  or  fluucotidde,  not  by  a  straight  thrust,  over 
the  arm,  nor  under,  not  by  doubling  or  disengaging,  but  with 
mv  own  favorite  plav,  that  inevitable  one-two. 

]>y  and  by.  however,  I  began  to  understand  his  cou/t,  and  to 
profit  by  it.  I  found  that  in  giving  o/tc-t/rn.  he  never  fairly  dis 
engaged  with  one  ;  but  instantly,  with  a  sort  of  twinkle  or 
ila-h.  intended  for  a  menace  or  feint,  lunged  out  on  tic<>.  For 
this,  I  found  my  guard  in  carte  too  low.  and  I  adopted  the 
half-circle  :  and  persevered,  with  such  complete  success,  parry 
ing  in  half-circle,  and  returning  with  a  whip  over  the  arm, 
that,  before  we  had  been  acquainted  two  months,  1  was  more 
than  a  match  for  my  gentleman,  and  used  to  touch  him  five 
times  out  of  six  ;  sometimes  disarming  him  with  the  same 
parrv.  as  I  came  up  from  the  half-circle,  though  never  inten 
tionally —  to  the  astonishment  of  all  our  bystanders.  At  last, 
he  proposed,  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  mortification,  and  a 
little  resentment,  to  have  it  out  with  me  somewhere  else; 
there  being  too  many  spectators  and  outsiders,  he  said,  at 
Angela's.  To  this  I  agreed  :  and  we  met  by  appointment,  and 
alone,  in  Mr.  Bentluun's  coach-house,  where  he  produced,  not 
the  "tool"  I  had  expected,  and  was  prepared  for,  but  a  highly 
finished,  finely-tempered  regulation-sword,  with  \vhirh  he  went 
through  the  cavalry-exercise,  like  a  master,  and  with  the 
greatest  possible  gravity  and  precision.  And  here  ended  my 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Wood.  He  was  beaten  more  deplo- 


322  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

rably  than  I  had  been,  and  bore  it  —  not  half  so  well.  So 
much  for  small-sword.  Leslie  had  watched  the  progress  of 
our  tournament,  up  to  the  time  when  it  was  generally  under 
stood  that  I  was  rapidly  gaining  on  my  adversary,  but  I  never 
told  him  of  the  final  issue,  though  I  knew  he  would  enjoy  the 
affair,  as  much  as  I  did.  and  must  have  been  gratified,  afier 
my  first  failure,  to  find  that  my  pretensions  were  pretty  well 
founded,  and  my  swordsmanship  of  a  character  to  justify  what 
Sully  had  written  to  him  about  me.  That  he  was  deeply 
mortified  at  my  '*  first  going  off,"  I  have  no  doubt,  although 
he  would  never  own  up  to  the  charge. 

Let  me  add,  that  after  my  return  to  America,  having  opened 
a  law-office  in  Portland,  I  gave  lessons  both  in  fencing  and 
sparring,  while  busiest  in  my  profession,  and  most  occupied 
with  editing  the  "  Yankee,"  and  writing  for  all  the  annuals, 
most  of  the  magazines,  and  at  least  half  a  score  of  newspapers. 
And  even  to  this  day.  judging  by  what  happened  not  long  ago, 
in  1864,  I  believe,  when  I  was  in  my  seventy-second  year,  I 
should  be  more  than  a  match  for  a  pretty  good  player  of  any 
age  ;  having  beaten  two  several  teachers  of  small-sword,  in  the 
course  of  a  single  week,  though  I  had  been  wholly  out  of 
practice  for  twenty  years,  and  had  never  met  with  my  match 
since  I  left  England.  u  There."  said  I,  one  day,  to  Mr.  Ben- 
tham  —  aftt-r  a  severe  day  at  Angelo's  —  UI  have  now  beaten 
all  the  best  players."  —  "  Ah-a-a-and  all  the  worst  players  have 
beaten  you,  hey  ?  "  was  the  reply.  Sed  qutere,  was  it  the  reply 
of  Bentham,or  of  his  secretary  ?  I  declare  I  forget  which  ;  but 
we  all  enjoyed  it, I  remember. 

Two  incidents  occur  to  me,  just  here,  which  deserve  mention 
perhaps.  Among  my  pupils  in  Portland  was  young  Charles 
Robinson,  a  midshipman  afterward,  in  the  navy,  who  married 
a  daughter  of  Commodore  Elliot.  He  was  alert  and  active, 
but  wanted  patience.  Two  or  three  years  later,  he  told  me 
that  one  of  my  lessons  had  saved  his  life.  He  was  forced  into 
a  duel  with  cutlasses.  After  a  little  playing  at  cut  and  thrust, 
he  parried  a  lunge,  and  returned  over  the  arm,  cutting  through 
his  adversary's  hand,  which  ended  the  affair.  And  the  late 
Captain  Paine,  of  the  United-States  navy,  who  took  a  few 
lessons  of  me,  both  in  small-sword  and  boxing,  after  a  sharp 
encounter  with  the  foils,  when  he  undertook  to  show,  that, 


PORTLAND  ;    FENCING    AND    STARRING.  323 

although  he  misilit  not  be  able  to  1/n/  out  his  antagonist,  while 
defending  himself,  he  certainly  could  ri.r  him,  it'  he  chose  to 
throw  hi>  own  lite  awa v  —  and  miserably  tailed,  of  course  —  told 
me  that  one  lesson  I  had  given  him.  in  boxing,  had  probably 
r-aved  his  lite  in  a  foreign  port,  ""\\hen  \  ou  are  in  doubt.'' 
said  I.  "  win  the  trick." — "  Win  ihe  trick  !  but  how  ':  "  —  k'Bv 
o-ivinir  one-two,  and  coining  instantly  on  guard/'  lie  was  going 
on  boanl  his  vessel  one  verv  dark  night.  A  big  black  shadow 
stood  in  his  wav.  and  struck  at  him  :  being-  in  doubt,  he  remem 
bered  mv  advice,  and  let  tly  with  one-hen  :  and  away  the  shadow 
went,  head  over  heels.  And  this  he  repeated,  two  or  three 
times,  till  it  left  him  in  peace.  Not  long  alter,  it  came  to  his 
knowledge,  that  somebody  who  had  been  struck  at  in  the  same 
wav.  found  his  heavy  wrapper  cut  through  in  three  or  four 
places,  after  he  got  on  board  :  nay.  on  second  thought,  I 
have  an  idea  that  Captain  Paine  himself  had  found  the  marks 
of  a  knife  about  the  collar  of  a  coat  he  wore  at  the  time  ;  his 
assailant  striking  with  a  bent  arm.  so  that  a  straight  one-two 
anticipated  his  blow,  as  a  straight  thrust  anticipates  the  coupe. 
Mv  lessons  were1  of  some  u>e  therefore. 

And  now.  having  tinished  with  my  adventures  and  experi 
ences  abroad,  let  me  sav  what  has  happened  since  mv  return  to 
America,  in  l*-7.  M\  law  library  had  been  ordered  from 
Baltimore  to  New- York,  where  I  intended  to  establish  myself 
in  my  profession;  mv  friends  telling  me.  that  Baltimore  would 
never  be  what  she  had  been  ;  that  the  Ballimore-and-Ohio 
Kailroad  had  crippled  and  emasculated  her  energies;  and  that, 
in  a  word.  I  must  go  to  New-Orleans,  to  New-York  or  Phila 
delphia,  if  I  ever  meant  to  be  heard  of.  I  chose  New- York  ; 
and.  after  meeting  with  Major  Noah,  who  wanted  me  to  estab 
lish  a  Sunday-paper  there,  saying  it  would  be  a  fortune  for 
me,  and  need  not  interfere  with  my  professional  business  for 
a  long  while.  I  made  my  arrangements  to  settle  there  as  a 
lawver.  and  give  up  writing  and  authorship,  unless  driven  to  it 
by  necessity. 

Jt  was  here,  and  at  this  time,  that  a  sorrowful  incident 
occurred,  which  I  never  can  think  of.  without  a  shudder.  At 
the  table  with  Major  Noah  and  myself  was  a  young  American, 
who  had  written  fur  the  magazines  of  London,  and  appeared 
well  acquainted  with  my  career  abroad.  His  name  was 


324  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Graham ;  and  while  chatting  over  his  wine,  with  Major  Noah 
and  myself,  about  magazine-literature  there,  he  referred  to 
some  article  he  had  written,  where  he  spoke  of  the  4*  venerable 
jaggedness  " —  or  the  '-jagged  venerableness,"  he  didn't  care 
a  snap  which,  for  either  would  do  —  of  some  old  ruins  there.  I 
found  him  a  very  pleasant  fellow,  highly  cultivated,  who 
had  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and  perhaps  profited  by  it, 
so  far,  at  least,  as  to  seem  high-bred  and  well-principled. 
But.  alas  !  within  a  week  after  I  saw  him  last,  he  was  shot 
dead  in  a  duel,  by  Barton,  a  young  Philadelphia!!,  whose  face  he 
had  slapped  over  the  card-table  ;  and  it  came  to  be  believed 
that  he  had  long  been  weary  of  life,  and  had  sought  death  in 
this  way,  rather  than  become  a  self-murderer.  And  then,  clap 
after  clap,  came  the  astounding  intelligence  that  his  real  name 
was  not  Graham,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  forgery  in  P^ng- 
land.  at  a  time  when  forgery  was  punished  by  death,  and  the 
case  of  poor  Fontleroy  had  not  been  altogether  forgotten  ;  that 
the  officers  of  justice  were  after  him,  and  had  actually  traced 
him  to  Liverpool,  supposing  that  he  would  be  likely  to  escape 
that  way ;  and  that  while  they  were  ransacking  the  city, 
through  every  hole  and  corner,  he  was  making  a  speech  in  a 
crowded  theatre,  to  quell  a  disturbance.  A  bold  player  in 
whatever  he  undertook,  his  audacity  saved  him,  and  enabled 
him  to  embark  for  his  native  country,  where  he  perished 
miserably,  soon  after  his  arrival. 

Other  propositions  w^re  urged;  but  my  mind  was  made  up 
to  go  into  the  law  for  a  living,  whatever  else  I  might  be  driven 
to  undertake,  in  a  parenthesis,  if  hard  pushed.  I  had,  I 
believe,  less  than  a  hundred  dollars  in  the  world.  I  was  in 
debt  five  or  six  hundred  ;  but  then,  I  had  a  library  and  office- 
furniture,  worth,  at  least,  three  thousand  dollars,  and  with 
these  I  was  ready  to  begin  the  world  anew,  in  the  great  city 
of  New-York,  not  being  then  aware  of  the  bitter  prejudice 
that  prevailed  against  me. 

But  I  must  run  home  first,  and  see  my  widowed  mother, 
and  my  twin-sister.  Rachel,  and  such  of  my  friends  and  rela 
tions  as  might  be  willing  to  acknowledge  me.  How  severe 
the  trial  for  them  was,  may  be  judged  of  by  the  fact,  that  one 
of  my  sister's  oldest  and  most  intimate  friends,  a  very  superior 
woman,  who  had  always  known  me  by  reputation,  having 


PORTLAND  ;    HOME    TRIALS.  325 

hoard  of  mv  arrival,  called,  with  tears  in  her  eye?,  not  to  con 
gratulate  her  and  my  beloved  mother,  hut  to  condole  with  her, 
and  to  bid  mv  mother  be  comforted,  and  put  her  trust  in  (ioil. 
This,  I  never  knew,  till  years  had  gone  by.  and  tin-  dear 
woman  —  God  ble-s  her  for  her  faithfulness,  in  the  dav  of  my 
visitation  !  —  had  become  one  of  my  truest  and  warmest  friends, 
and  has  continued  so  to  this  hour,  notwithstanding  the  death 
of  my  sister.  1  saw  her  only  last  sabbath,  and  had  half  a 
mind  to  ask  her  what  had  M>  changed  her  opinion  of  me.  and 
how  she  came  to  be  so  cruelly  prejudiced  against  me.  before 
she  knew  personally  what  I  was  good  for:  but  I  hadn't  the, 
heart  :  and  as  all  these  questions  will  explain  themselves, 
before  we  get  through.  I  must  leave  them  to  the  future. 

Soon  after  this,  and  when  I  had  no  more  idea  of  settling 
down  in  the  village  of  Portland,  for  life,  than  I  had  of 
establishing  a  Cape-Elizabeth  ••  Daily -Advertiser,"  or  teaching 
horsemanship  on  the  Isle  of  Shoals,  it  was  intimated  to  me 
that  I  should  not  be  allowed  to  stay  here.  "  Verilv.  verilv."  said 
1,  '•  if  they  take  that  position,  here  I  will  stay,  till  I  am  both 
rooted  and  grounded  —  grounded  in  the  gravevard.  if  nowhere 
else  ;  "  and  here  I  have  remained  from  that  day  to  this,  with 
standing  all  combinations  and  sorrows  and  trials,  resisting 
everv  temptation  and  allurement  to  go  elsewhere,  until,  though 
at  one  time  London  and  Paris  were  not  large  enough  for  me, 
and  New-York  and  New-Orleans,  and  Baltimore  and  Phila 
delphia,  were  but  mere  out-posts  and  make-shifts,  in  my 
estimation.  I  came  to  regard  Portland  —  brave,  generous, 
beautiful  Portland  —  as  unmatched  and  unmatchable  ;  and  so 
t  is.  Washed  on  everv  side  by  the  open  sea,  draining 
itself,  and  looking  abroad  over  sky  and  earth,  as  if  anticipat 
ing  the  time  when  she  will  be  taking  toll,  both  ways,  of  the 
merchant-princes,  and  the  merchandises  of  the  Orient  and  the 
West,  and  the  riches  of  China,  of  India  and  Japan,  shall  be 
emptied  into  her  magnificent  harbor,  and  the  population  of 
whole  empires  flow  through  her  broad  thoroughfares  —  there  ! 
The  plot  was  now  hurrying  forward  to  a  consummation. 
The  very  next  day  after  my  arrival,  my  uncle.  James  Neal, 
cautioned  me  on  the  subject,  saying  that  one  or  two  of  the 
Willis-family  had  called  on  him  to  warn  me  that  I  must  not 
venture  to  speak  to  any  of  them.  t;  Very  well,"  said  I} 


326  AVAXDERIXG    RECOLLECTIONS. 

"  please  say  to  them  that  they  must  not  venture  to  speak  to 
me,  or  even  to  look  at  me,  uncivilly,  when  they  cross  my 
path,  or  I  shall  knock  them  down,  without  a  word,  though  it 
be  in  church."  That  very  day,  my  threat  came  near  being 
verified  ;  for  happening  to  enter  the  old  brick  church,  where, 
in  my  boyhood.  I  used  to  go.  barefooted,  after  chips,  I  saw 
Mr.  George  Willis  in  a  side-aisle,  and  came  upon  him  quite 
unexpectedly  on  my  way  out ;  whereupon  he  disappeared, 
like  a  shadow.  But  I  was  beleaguered  on  every  side  :  my 
enemies  beset  me  at  every  turn  :  the  plot  thickened  ;  and 
the  next  day.  as  I  was  walking  up  Exchange-Street,  with  my 
good  uncle,  I  heard  a  noise,  not  unlike  the  roar  of  a  chafed 
bull.  I  stopped  and  looked  about  me,  having  no  idea  of 
the  cause.  Nor  had  my  uncle  ;  for  he  said  to  me,  "  AY  hat's 
the  matter  with  Patten  ?  "  —  "  Patten  !  Patten  !  "  said  I, k'  good 
gracious!  not  Master  Patten  is  it?"  And  as  I  turned.  1  saw 
that  gentleman  standing  in  the  door  of  his  little  book-shop, 
with  a  heavy  cane,  gesticulating  violently,  and  threatening  me 
in  language  I  had  never  been  accustomed  to.  I  turned  back 
to  meet  him  ;  and  uncle  Xeal  tried  to  stop  me,  but  in  vain. 
As  I  drew  near  Patten,  he  retreated  within  the  shop,  still 
brandishing  his  cane,  and  threatening  me.  and  telling  me  not 
to  cross  the  threshold,  if  I  valued  my  life.  I  did  cross  it,  how 
ever,  saying  to  him.  as  I  did  so,  that,  if  he  knew  when  he  was 
we.ll  off,  he  must  not  allow  the  cane  to  touch  me.  By  this  time, 
there  was  a  large  gathering  about  the  door.  He  threatened, 
while  foaming  at  the  mouth  almost,  to  get  a  "  nigger  "  to  thrash 
roe.  "•  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I :  "  you  may  get  a  couple 
if  you  like  ;  and  I'll  stay  here,  just  here,  without  budging,  til 
you  have  made  up  your  party."  Others  interfered  now  — 
well-disposed  gentlemanly  persons.  My  old  friend  Patten  — 
who  was  really  a  man  of  pluck,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
violent,  unreasonable,  head-strong  temper,  a  very  worthy 
gentleman,  with  a  well-founded  grudge  again  >t  me,  for 
which  I  have  always  been  sorry,  though  he  had  given  me 
ample  occasion  for  complaint,  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  went  to 
school  to  him  —  retreated  into  his  back  shop,  and  I  went  on 
my  way  rejoicing. 

Our  quarrel  originated  in  this  way.     At  the  a^e  of  eight,  or 
nine  perhaps,  I  carried  a  note  from  my  mother,  asking  him  to 


PORTLAND  ;    HOME    TRIALS.  327 

excuse  me  for  absence,  one  morning,  when  it  was  my  turn  to 
sweep  the  school-hou.se.  Instead  of  looking  into  the  note  to 
see  if  I  had  any  reasonable  excuse  —  and.  between  ourselves. 
I  don't  think  I  had.  for  my  uncle  having  given  me  permission 
to  go  aboard  a  ship  he  was  building,  for  waste  oakum.  I  had 
availed  myself  of  the  permission,  1  dare  say.  without  saving 
that  I  had  to  sweep  out  the  school-room  —  but  Master  Patten 
did  not  know  thi>  —  I  might  have  been  sick,  or  a  death  might 
have  happened  in  the  family  to  prevent  me  —  and  so.  without 
reading  the  note,  he  set  upon  me  at  once,  and  gave  me  a 
terrible  thrashing,  and  then  went  home  to  his  boarding-house, 
and  made  his  bra  us  of  it.  before  all  the  boarders.  I  heard  of  this 
and  vowed  —  <.^uak»-rs  never  swear,  you  know — I  vowed  in 
mv  heart,  to  pav  him  oil' in  his  own  coin,  if  he  and  I  lived,  till 
I  was  bin  enough.  Munv  years  after  this  —  in  18  IS.  I  should 
think,  when  I  was  twenty-five  —  I  happened  to  be  in  Portland 
on  a  visit,  just  after  our  failure  in  business,  when,  owing  partly 
to  a  long  trip  through  Virginia,  in  mid-summer,  and  partly  to 
the  voyage  from  Baltimore  to  Boston.  I  was  tanned  so  black 
—  black  and  tanned,  I  might  say.  like  one  of  King  Charles's 
pups  —  and  so  changed,  that  I  passed  for  a  pirate,  in  church; 
and  everywhere,  among  those  who  had  been  my  school-fellows 
and  companions,  not  long  before,  and  my  own  mother  did  not 
know  me,  till  I  spoke.  Passing  Mr.  Patten's  little  book-store, 
one  day,  I  remembered  my  vow,  and  was  on  the  point  of' pav 
ing  him  a  visit,  when,  just  as  I  had  reached  the  door,  and  was 
about  crossing  the  threshold.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  gray- 
haired  man  at  his  desk  ;  and.  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not  have 
gone  a  step  nearer.  If  he  had  taken  advantage  of  my  help 
lessness,  when  a  child,  was  I,  in  the  flush  and  prime  of  a  confi 
dent  manhood,  to  take  advantage  of  his  comparative  helpless 
ness,  at  the  age  of  threescore,  at  least !"  No.  no :  I  could 
not  do  it :  and  I  left  him  in  peace.  Had  I  stopped  there,  all 
would  have  been  well,  and  that  most  worthy  gentleman  would 
have  had  nothing  to  complain  of:  but  in  writing  the  life  of 
"Will  Adams,  or  Errata"  —  a  rude,  rough  story,  with  false 
hood  enough,  and  exaggeration  enough,  to  show  that  I  was  not 
even  pretending  to  tell  the  truth,  but  onlv  making  up  some 
thing  as  I  went  along,  like  other  story-tellers  on  paper,  and  not 
giving  a  biography  —  I  happened  to  mention  this  incident.  My 


328  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

object  was  to  show  how  dangerous  it  might  be,  for  a  school 
master,  or  an  employer,  to  mistake  a  boy's  character,  just  when 
he  was  pushing  into  a  vigorous  growth  ;  and.  for  illustration,  I 
gave  a  series  of  anecdotes,  all  substantially  true  of  themselves, 
though  oftentimes  greatly  embellished,  for  the  very  purpose 
of  misleading  those  who  might  fancy  that  poor  kt  Will  Adams  " 
was  a  portraiture  of  the  author,  and  that  all  I  related  of  him 
was  a  matter  of  personal  experience  with  mvself —  in  short, 
an  autobiography.  For  the  same  reason.  I  had  mentioned  a 
series  of  trials,  to  which  I  had  been  subjected  by  others  — 
and,  I  must  acknowledge,  without  well  considering  the  con 
sequences ;  for,  sooth  to  say,  I  had  no  malice  in  mv  heart 
toward  a  single  human  being,  and  no  drop  of  bitterness,  to 
scald  mv  throat,  or  otherwise  trouble  me,  when  I  thought 
of  the  Willises  ;  nor  did  it  once  enter  my  head,  that  a  family  I 
so  much  respected,  and  had  so  much  reason  to  respect,  on  the 
whole,  notwithstanding  their  misapprehension  of  my  character, 
when  I  was  a  shop-boy  in  their  father's  store,  would  care  a 
snap  for  the  stories  I  told,  whether  true  or  false  ;  yet,  heing 
true  —  true  to  the  letter  —  it  seems  they  were  dreadfully 
exasperated  and  embittered,  like  "  Master  Patten,"  without  a 
suspicion  of  the  truth,  on  my  part.  Hence  all  the  commotion 
about  me. 

Two  or  three  days  after  my  arrival  at  Portland,  as  I  went 
lazily  sauntering  down  Middle-Street,  by  "  Huckler's  Row,"  as 
it  was  then  called,  near  the  head  of  Green-Street,  I  heard  some 
body  shouting  after  me,  "  Keep  Cool !  Keep  Cool !  "  On 
turning  my  head,  I  saw  quite  a  gathering,  a  rabble-rout  of  young 
men,  standing  in  the  door-way  of  Herrick's  tavern,  with  their 
faces  turned  toward  me.  Taking  it  for  granted  that  I  under 
stood  them,  I  went  back  to  my  mother's,  left  my  watch  and 
purse,  arid  returned.  The  outcry  was  renewed  by  two  or 
three  voices.  I  walked  over,  and  seeing  one  fellow  seated  on 
the  door-sill,  whose  insolent  manner  satisfied  me  that  he  was 
one  I  should  have  to  do  with,  I  took  off  his  hat,  not  willing  to 
strike  him  before  he  stood  up.  and  flung  it  into  the  shop.  Upon 
this,  he  sprang  to  his  feet;  and  I  instantly  slapped  his  face. 
The  others  crowded  about  me:  he  threw  himself  into  position  ; 
and  I  let  fly,  sending  him  into  the  furthest  corner,  with  a 
bloody  nose,  and  receiving,  at  the  same  time,  a  blow  from 


PORTLAND  ;    SKIRMISHING.  329 

behind,  over  the  right  shoulder,  which  left  me  with  a  black 
eye.  Turning  upon  the  cowardly  and  treacherous  rascals,  and 
telling  them,  that  if  they  would  only  come  to  the  front.  I  was 
ready  for  the  whole  gang.  I  prepared  for  the  worst.  Where 
upon,  without  waiting  to  he  hurried,  or  to  stand  ••  upon  the 
order  of  their  going,"  they  cleared  out.  and  I  went  back  to  my 
mother's.  Within  the  next  following  few  davs,  I  had  two  or 
three  other  explanations  of  a  similar  Character,  which  resulted 
iu  nothing  serious  :  and  then,  being  invited  by  the  students  of 
Bowdoin  College  to  a  supper,  I  went  down  there  :  was  met 
and  entertained  with  the  greatest  warmth  and  respect,  though 
I  refused  to  make  a  speech  —  from  sheer  inability,  not  being 
able  to  address  a  few  remarks  to  a  sablnth-school  class,  at 
Bath,  when  it  was  expected  of  me.  in  Dr.  Jenks's  church  — 
and  had  put  into  my  hands  the  following  placard,  in  prodigious 
letters,  crowded  with  large  staring  capitals,  and  topped  off 
with  a  hand  four  inches  long,  which  had  been  found  pasted  up 
at  the  college-entrance,  while  others  were  clinging  to  the 
fences  and  gate-posts  in  every  part  of  the  village,  llere  it  is 
now  :  I  give  it  word  for  word. 

"  BULLETIN  EXTRA. —  Arrived  at  Portland  on  Saturday 
evening  last,  in  the  steamboat,  in  a  short  passage  from  Lon 
don,  ri'a  New-York,  the  celebrated  author  of  '  Keep  Cool,' 
'Randolph,'  'Errata.'  &c  .  &c.,  in  a  state  of  great  bodily  and 
mental  exhaustion,  owing  to  his  excessive  labors  in  furnish 
ing  matter  for  •  Blackwood's  Edinburgh  Monthly  Magazine.' 
It  is  said  much  of  the  elevation  of  American  character  is  owing 
to  this  distinguished  author.  Since  his  arrival  in  his  native 
town,  it  has  been  recommended  to  put  himself  under  the  care 
of  the  Hon.  Stephen  Jones.  M. D..  an  eminent  Southern 
Physician.  This  lias  been  done,  and  the  doctor  reports  favor 
ably.  On  Wednesday  afternoon,  he  was  walking  with  his 
physician,  apparently  much  better.  Dr.  Jones,  however, 
recommends  his  removal  to  Baltimore,  or  some  more  southern 
climate,  for  his  complete  restoration. 

"July    12  —  ." 

But  this  handbill  not  being  altogether  satisfactory,  it  was 
enlarged  and  intensified,  corrected  and  revised,  forthwith,  and 


330  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

a  large  edition  was  immediately  struck  off,  and  scattered 
broadcast-all  through  the  streets  of  Portland,  in  the  following 
shape,  with  the  same  large  capitals,  and  monstrous  hand  at  the 
top,  to  secure  attention:  — 

"  BULLETIN  EXTRA.  —  Arrived  at  Portland  on  Saturday 
evening  last,  in  the  steamboat,  in  a  short  passage  from  London, 
via  New-York,  the  infamous  author  of  '  Keep  Cool,'  '  Ran 
dolph,'  '  Errata,'  &c.,  &c.,  who  has  basely  traduced  his  native 
town  and  country  for  hire  ;  a  renegade,  who.  unable  to  obtain 
an  honest  living  at  home,  and  driven  from  his  native  country 
by  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  honest  indignation,  picked  up  a 
scanty  living  in  Edinburgh  and  London,  by  being  a  pander  for 
scandal  against  the  country  that  nourished  him.  in  the  periodi 
cal  journals  of  those  cities.  How  much  of  the  elevation  of 
American  character  is  owing  to  this  distinguished  author,  let 
an  enlightened  public  judge  !  He  has  been  long  laboring  under 
symptoms  of  insanity,  and,  since  his  arrival  in  his  native  town, 
it  has  been  recommended  to  put  himself  under  the  care  of 
Stephen  Jones,  M.D.,  an  eminent  African  Physician.  This 
has  been  done,  and  the  doctor  reports  favorably.  On  Wednes 
day  afternoon,  he  was  walking  with  his  physician,  apparently 
much  better.  Dr.  Jones,  however,  recommends  his  immediate 
removal  to  Baltimore,  or  some  more  southern  climate,  for  his 
complete  restoration. 
"July  12th,  1827. 

"  N.B .  —  It  is  understood  this  celebrated  author  has 
returned  from  the  East'  without  much  improvement." 

Of  course,  I  know  the  author  of  these  two  handbills  ;  but, 
inasmuch  as  we  have  been  on  good  terms  for  the  last  forty 
years,  and  I  have  never  called  him  to  account,  holding  that 
tit-for-tat  is  allowable  in  such  controversies,  I  shall  not  give 
up  his  name.  Let  the  past  be  forgotten,  as,  by  me,  it  is  most 
heartily  forgiven. 

Meanwhile,  other  agencies  were  at  work  ;  and  I  was  informed 
not  only  that  I  should  not  be  admitted  to  the  Cumberland-liar, 
though  a  Counsellor  of  the  Supreme-Court  of  the  United- 
States  for  several  years,  but  that  I  should  not  even  be  allowed 


PORTLAND;  STEPHEN  JONES,  M.D.  331 

to  stay  in  Portland,  happen  what  might.  This  determined 
me.  My  mind  was  no\v  made  up,  and  I  lost  no  time  in  apply 
ing  for  admission,  ordering  my  library  from  Baltimore  to 
Portland,  instead  of  New-York,  and  securing  an  otlice. 

While  waiting  for  the  moon  to  change,  other  farts  had  come 
to  my  knowledge,  little  calculated  to  soothe  my  irritation,  or 
sweeten  my  temper.  One  day.  it  happened  that  a  colored  man 
accosted  me  in  the  street,  walked  with  me.  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  me.  about  matters  and  things  in  general. 
lie  was  a  very  ignorant  fellow,  a  by-word  and  butt  with  the 
idlers  of  the  day  ;  but  his  language  was  so  irresistibly  droll, 
being  the  strangest  mixture  of  unmeaning  word-,  compounded 
by  himself,  while  his  manner  was  deferential  enough  to  satisfy 
the  most  fastidious,  that  I  found  no  little  amusement  in  listen 
ing  to  his  gibberish.  We  were  together  for  half  an  hour, 
perhaps  ;  but  the  next  day  a  gentleman  called  on  me,  and, 
after  an  apology  for  interfering,  told  me  that  the  poor  "nigger" 
was  nicknamed  Dr.  /lones.  and  that  he  had  been  hired  to 
follow  me  round,  wherever  I  went  :  never  to  lose  sight  of  me, 
and  to  enter  into  conversation  with  me  whenever  he  had  a 
chance.  The  gentleman  added  that  he  had  called  Jones  into  his 
store  and  told  him  it  was  about  as  much  as  his  life  was  worth, 
if  I  <rot  a  hint  of  the  truth.  "  l>ut  is  he  a  worthy  fellow  ?  " 
said  I.  —  '•  Yes.  indeed  ;  both  ignorant  and  harmless."  —  '•  And 
they  pay  him  well,  I  hope  ?  "  —  "  So  I  understand."  was  the 
reply."  —  "Very  well;  say  to  Dr.  .Jones,  that  I  have  not  the 
slightest  objection  to  his  earning  wages  in  this  way.  just  as 
long  as  they  may  think  it  wise  to  employ  him.  Let  him 
understand  that  he  has  my  full  consent  to  follow  me  wherever 
I  go.  by  night  or  by  day,  to  walk  by  my  side,  if  he  will,  and 
to  enter  into  conversation  with  me.  whenever  I  am  alone  ; 
but,  if  he  speaks  to  me  when  I  am  not  alone.  I  will  thrash  him 
within  an  inch  of  his  life,  though  it  should  be  in  the  presence 
of  women,  or  on  the  steps  of  the  church.''  The  communication 
was  made  to  him.  and  he  not  only  promised,  but  faithfully 
kept  his  promise  to  the  last  ;  going  with  me  to  the  houses  I 
visited,  and  sitting  on  the  door-steps,  till  I  came  out  ;  until 
the  confederates,  finding  the  laugh  was  against  them,  began  to 
count  the,  cost,  and  left  me  in  peace  for  the  next  following 
forty  years. 


332  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Having  applied  for  admission  to  the  Cumberland-bar, 
though  assured  by  the  late  Judge  Preble  himself,  and  by 
Chief-Justice  Milieu,  that  I  might  have  to  go  through  a  course 
of  study  with  some  lawyer  of  reputation  here,  the  monopoly 
being  established,  and  the  bar-rules  imperative,  I  left  my 
credentials  with  a  committee  of  the  bar,  showing  how  long  I 
had  practised  in  the  highest  courts  of  Maryland,  how  long 
I  had  been  admitted  to  the  District,  the  Circuit,  and  the 
Supreme  Courts  of  the  United-States,  and  began  looking 
about,  for  an  office.  Most  of  our  leading  practitioners,  at  this 
time,  had  for  their  offices  mere  kennels,  or  dog's-holes,  with 
out  carpets  or  furniture  worth  haying,  dark,  dirty,  and  slovenly. 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  light,  airy,  well-furnished  offices, 
for  I  had  two  rooms  on  the  ground-floor  handsomely  carpeted, 
with  mahogany  tables,  and  book-cases,  &c.,  and  rosewood 
chairs,  at  Baltimore,  though  called  a  coxcomb  for  my  pains  ; 
but  there  I  slept,  in  my  back-office,  Jind  there  spent  all  my 
time,  except  at  niy  meals  ;  and  I  chose  to  be  comfortable  and 
cleanly. 

The  late  Mr.  James  Deering  had  just  finished  a  block  of 
stores  in  Exchange-Street,  with  offices  in  the  second  story,  for 
those  who  might  be  adventurous  enough  to  leave  their  garrets 
and  ground-floors,  for  handsome,  light,  and  cheerful  apartments, 
between  the  two.  Having  heard  that  Fessenden  and  Deblois 
were  to  have  two  rooms  in  the  building  I  had  in  view,  I  called 
to  inquire  of  the  general,  grandfather  of  the  two  generals 
now  flourishing,  and  then  occupying  a  miserable  one-story  box 
in  Court-Street;  and  he- gave  me  all  the  information  I  required. 
Whereupon,  I  hunted  up  Mr.  Deering,  and  while  negotiating 
with  him  for  the  front  office,  in  the  street,  he  wanting  me  to 
take  both  rooms,  front  and  back,  and  I  saying  that  I  couldn't 
afford  but  one,  to  begin  with  ;  but  if  I  should  have  students,  as 
I  had  in  Baltimore,  or  a  decent  share  of  business,  I  would  take 
both.  At  this  moment,  my  uncle,  James  Xeal,hove  in  sight,  and 
Mr.  Deering  called  him  over,  saying,  "  Here,  Mr.  Neal  !  your 
nephew  wants  to  take  only  one  of  my  new  offices,  and  I  advise 
him  to  take  both  :  I  know  he'll  want  them.  What  say  you  ? 
won't  lie  have  business  enough  to  justify  him  ?  " — "Won't  have 
enough  to  pay  for  his  fire-wood,"  was  the  reply.  "  Mr.  Deering," 
said  J, "  we  will  take  both  offices  ;"  and  there  the  matter  ended. 


PORTLAND  ;    GYMNASTICS.  333 

I  was  soon  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  entered  at  once  upon  my 
profession,  with  reasonable  success,  though  I  must  acknowledge 
that  I  never  made  much  of  a  figure  there.  Pettifogging  I  had 
no  relish  for.  and  the  speeches  were  oftentimes  of  such  a 
portentous  length,  where  little  or  nothing  was  at  stake,  beyond 
a  boot-jack  or  a  tin-dipper,  that  I  felt  ashamed  to  bestir 
myself,  or  to  waste  mv  indignation,  or  breath,  upon  the 
merest  quibbling,  as  many  others  did  :  though  there  were 
honorable  exceptions,  where  truth,  and  not  victory,  was  occa 
sionally,  though  not  often,  struggled  for. 

Meanwhile,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  The  bar  was  over-crowded, 
and  the  late  Charles  S.  Davies,  one  of  mv  earliest  friends,  after 
I  began  dabbling  i"  literature,  took  the  first  opportunity  of  say- 
in  «r  as  much.  Jitit  I  persevered,  nevertheless  ;  all  the  more  I 
might  say.  for  such  intimations. 

Another  incident,  followed  by  lasting  consequences,  may  as 
well  be  stated  here.  The  late  Governor  Enoch  Lincoln  was 
mv  mother's  next-door  neighbor.  Having  understood  that  I 
was  familiar  with  gymnastics,  which  he  wanted  to  have  intro 
duced  here,  he  proposed  a  lecture.  A  lecture  !  I  had  never 
been  guilty  of  such  a  thing,  in  all  my  life  :  but.  as  soon  as  my 
mind  was  made  up  about  staying  here.  I  determined  to 
establish  a  gymnasium,  take  charge  of  it  myself,  and.  refusing 
all  compensation,  see  what  could  be  done  for  the  people  in  that 
wav.  Our  first  gathering  was  in  the  upper  story  of  the  old 
town-hall,  which  1  asked  of  the  authorities  ;  and  succeeded  in 
obtaining  for  certain  purposes,  though  vehemently  opposed  by 
such  you  112  men  as  the  late  Colonel  John  I).  Kinsman,  then 
exceedingly  popular  with  the  militia-power.  I  was  not 
present  at  the  meeting,  where  he  denounced  the  whole  system, 
in  his  pitiable  ignorance  of  its  true  character,  as  a  kind  of 
raree-show,  with  ground  and  lofty  tumbling,  &c.  ;  but  1  heard 
of  it.  and  lost  no  time  in  suggesting  that  a  lesson  or  two  might 
be  taken  by  him,  with  great  advantage  to  his  manners,  if  not 
to  his  understanding. 

From  the  old  town-hall,  we  went  to  Silver-Street,  where 
we  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  large  hay-magazine.  There 
we  set  up  our  ladders,  and  ropes,  and  masts,  parallel-bars, 
wooden-horses.  &c.,  &c..  with  such  success,  that,  before  a  month 
had  gone  over,  I  had  under  my  charge  at  least  fifteen  or 


334  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

twenty  full  classes.  Among  these  were  many  capital  gymnasts. 
After  this,  when  the  spring  opened,  we  took  the  old  fort  on 
the  top  of  Munjoy-Hill,  and  established  another  gymnasium 
there,  with  ditches  and  leaping-poles ;  and  then,  having  got 
into  other  and  better  business,  with  my  law  and  literature,  and 
fencing  and  sparring  classes,  at  my  office,  I  threw  up  these 
gymnasia;  being,  to  say  the  truth,  heartily  sick  of  them, 
after  I  found  how  little  the  members  were  inclined  to  do  for 
themselves  ;  not  one  of  the  whole  being  disposed  to  let  me  off, 
although  I  had  trained  forty  or  fifty  for  class-leaders,  and  they 
understood  that  I  had  my  own  living  to  get  in  other  ways. 
Meanwhile,  1  had  established  a  gymnasium  at  Brunswick, 
which  has  been  continued  to  this  day,  with  two  or  three  long 
interruptions,  and  another  at  Saco ;  and  all  this,  without  ask 
ing  or  receiving  a  penny  for  my  time  and  trouble  ;  nay,  more : 
at  considerable  expense  to  myself,  though  so  poor  at  the  time, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  pay  my  bills  at  sight,  and  keep  my  own 
counsel,  under  every  temptation,  lest  I  should  be  sent  to  the 
alms-house  ;  and  now  let  me  add,  that  I  am  constantly  meet 
ing  with  gray-headed  men,  who  declare  that  they  owe  their 
restoration  to  health,  and  sometimes  their  very  lives,  to  the 
discipline  of  the  gymnasia,  under  my  charge. 

Before  I  leave  this  part  of  my  story,  however,  let  me  men 
tion  a  fact,  which  will  be  very  surprising,  I  dare  say,  to  most 
of  our  abolitionists  and  clamorous  anti-slavery  enthusiasts. 
One  day,  a  young  mulatto  called  on  me,  to  see  if  he  could  be 
admitted  into  our  Silver-Street  Gymnasium.  Liking  his 
appearance  and  behavior,  and  believing  that  in  some  such  way 
only  could  our  colored  brethren  be  brought  to  share  in  our 
white  social  privileges,  I  answered,  "  Yes,  certainly  :  so  far  as  I 
myself  was  concerned  ;  but  I  would  consult  the  class-leaders." 
Meanwhile,  he  was  to  "  scratch  round,"  and  try  to  get  half  a 
dozen  colored  youth  to  join  him.  He  succeeded,  and  I  made 
the  proposal.  A  dead  silence:  I  then  urged  upon  the  large 
school,  that,  in  their  vehement  opposition  to  slavery,  they  had 
now  a  good  opportunity  for  manifesting  their  sincerity,  and 
of  advancing  the  colored  man,  at  least  one  step  in  the  social 
scale.  No  answer.  I  then  offered  to  take  charge  of  the 
colored  class  myself,  to  be  answerable  for  their  good  behavior, 
cleanliness,  and  strict  obedience.  And  what  think  you  was 


PORTLAND.  335 

the  result  ?  Of  all  that  lurje  and  prosperous  association,  for 
which  I  had  been  laboring,  without  pay,  month  after  month, 
for  about  a  year,  only  two  could  be  found  willing  to  admit  a 
colored  man  into  the  association.  These  two  were  the  late 
Mr.  John  Winslow.  a  Quaker:  and  Mr.  Neal  Dow.  the  son  of 
a  Quaker.  This.  I  acknowledge,  went  far  to  dishearten  me  ; 
for  what  was  bodily  training,  compared  with  spiritual  training? 
what  a  system  of  gymnastics,  weighed  against  humanity  and 
consistency  ? 

The  die  was  now  cast:  I  was  settled  for  life;  and  though 
told  that  I  should  not  stay  in  Portland;  that,  if  not  driven  out,  I 
should  be  starved  out.  so  bitter  and  tierce,  and  so  universal, 
was  the  feeling  against  me,  yet  here  I  am  now.  and  here  I 
have  been  ever  since,  at  the  end  of  nearly  two-and-forty  years, 
and  almost  as  jjood  as  new.  So  much  for  self-reliance  and 
wilfulness.  But  this  chapter  is  getting  out  of  proportion.:  let 
us  £0  to  another. 


336  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

PORTLAND. 

SETTLED  IN  PORTLAND;  THE'-  YANKEE;"  CHIEF-JUSTICE  APPLETON:  EDGAR 
A.  POE,  AND  OTHERS:  BUCKINGHAM  AND  THE  "  NE\V-ENGLAND  GALAXY  ;  " 
OUR  QUARREL:  HECO.ME  EDITOR  OK  THE  u  GALAXY  ;"  FRANCIS  o.j.  SMITH 
AND  THE  EASTERN  "ARGUS;"  JAMES  BROOKS  :  OFFICE-HUNTING;  CITY 
GOVERNMENT  OF  PORTLAND:  MR.  NEAL  I)()W  :  LOTTERIES:  NARROW 
ESCAPE  FROM  THE  STATE-PRISON;  PERIODICALS:  FAVORAP.LE  CHANGE 
OF  PUBLIC  OPINION;  GENERAL  FESSENDEN;  LECTURING;  EXTEMPORANE 
OUS  AM)  WRITTEN  ADDREHSES:  MARHIAGE;  QUARRYING  FOR  GOLD; 
BUILDING;  LACQUERED  WARE  BANISHED;  EXAMPLES. 

I  WAS  now  fairly  under  way.  A  young  book-seller  —  which, 
of  course,  may  account  for  the  rash  adventure  —  James  Adams, 
Jr..  had  applied  to  me,  at  the  suggestion  of  others,  to  establish 
a  paper.  I  refused ;  though  willing  enough  to  be  an  editor, 
nothing  would  induce  me  to  become  a  proprietor.  After  a 
brief  negotiation,  he  undertook  to  publish,  what  I  was  to  edit, 
for  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  payable  out  of  the  store  ;  that 
is,  in  law-books  and  stationery. 

Subscription-papers  were  issued,  a  very  satisfactory  lisfc  of 
subscribers  obtained,  and  on  the  first  of  January,  1828,  "  THE 
YANKEE"  burst  like  a  northern  meteor  upon  our  people.  It 
was  continued  with  triumphant  success  ;  entirely  original ; 
most  of  it  —  seven-eighths  perhaps  —  written  by  myself;  and 
altogether  literary,  without  a  single  advertisement,  for  a  year 
and  a  half,  when,  having  swallowed  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale's 
Monthly  —  the  "  Ladies'  Magazine,"  perhaps  —  the  "  Bache 
lor's  Journal,"  and  the  "  Boston  Literary  Gazette,"  editor  and 
all,  it  appeared  in  Boston,  conducted  by  myself  and  James  W. 
Miller,  the  poet,  and  a  true  poet  he  was,  thougli  he  has  been 
allowed  to  die  out  by  his  contemporaries ;  and  then,  as  if 
the  publishers  and  proprietors  were  beside  themselves,  they 
changed  it  from  a  weekly  folio  of  eight  pages,  to  a  monthly 
magazine,  which,  as  I  foretold,  gave  up  the  ghost  within  the 


SETTLED    IX    POKTLAND.  337 

next  following  six  months,  although  under  the  guardianship 
of  Lilly  and  Waite.  successors  to  Wells  aud  Lilly. 

While  burning  its  way  into  public  favor.  I  had  for  contribu 
tors,  from  all  pans  of  the  country,  such  men  as  Chief-Justice 
Appleton.  whose  lirsi  published  writings  appeared  in  the 
'•  Yankee."  on  Balance  of  Trade.  Usury,  Evidence,  and  Lot 
teries  :  John  G.  Whi:tier.  who  began  his  career  with  me.  I 
believe:  I).  1).  Thatcher,  author  of  ••  Indian  Biography ;"  Albert 
Pike,  then  of  Newburyport,  mn\  of  Little  Rock  :  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Greenwood  ;  James  O.  Rockwell,  who-e  lines  ••  To  an  Iceberg" 
ought  never  to  be  forgotten;  Iv'igur  A.  Poc ;  Grenville  Mullen; 
Dr.  Isaac  Ray.  and  half  a  hundred,  more  or  less,  of  writers 
who  have  since  become  distinguished.  Loe  M-nt  his  lirst 
poems  to  thf  "  Yankee."  and  proposed  to  dedicate  a  \ohime  to 
me;  but  I  discouraged  him.  saving,  that,  in  the  existing  state 
of  public  opinion,  it  would  be  a  hindrance1,  instead  of  a  help, 
and  he  forebore.  And  as  for  Whittier.  I  have  just  fished  up 
a  letter  of  his.  which  I  had  entirely  forgotten,  dated  "  10th 
Mo.,  l.S^s,"  and  showing  on  what  terms  we  were,  forty  years 
ago.  A  part  of  it  ran  thus:  — 

"My  DEAR  XKAL. —  I  have  just  written  something  for 
your  consideration.  You  dislike  —  I  believe  you  do.  at  least 
—  the  blank  verse  of  our  modern  poets  and  poetesses.  Never 
theless.  I  send  you  a  lonir  string  of  it.  If  you  don't  like  it, 
say  so  privatelv  :  un<l  I  will  quit  jxictn/.  <tn<l  crcn/  tJtiix/  else 
of  a  literary  nature,  for  I  am  sick  at  heart  of  the  busi 
ness Insult  has  maddened  me.  The  friend 
less  boy  has  been  mocked  at  ;  and,  years  ago,  he  vowed  to 
triumph  over  the  scorners  of  his  boyish  endeavors.  With  the 
nnescapable  sense  of  wrong  burning  like  a  volcano  in  the 
recesses  of  his  spirit,  he  has  striven  to  accomplish  this  vow, 
until  his  heart  has  grown  weary  of  the  struggle."  Of  course, 
I  wrote  a  most  encouraging  letter  in  reply  ;  for  he  persisted, 
as  wre  see,  like  Mr.  Xeal  Dow,  and  William  Garrison,  after 
they  had  both  threatened  to  be  distinguished  in  some  way, 
until  he  has  become  one  of  the  glories  in  onr  upper-sky  ;  but 
just  think  of  the  Quaker  poet,  and  a  poet,  so  much  of  a 
Quaker  (he  is  a  distant  relation  of  mine,  by  the  way)  mak 
ing  a  vow,  and  going  about  with  a  volcano  in  his  heart, 

22 


338  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

like  Sumner  Lincoln  Fairfield,  "  full  of  the  unescapable  sense 
of  wrong" 

About  the  same  time.Ts.  P.  Willis,  whom  I  had  been  watch 
ing  over  a  long  while,  wrote  me  as  follows,  while  engaging  me 
to  write  for  the  "  Token,''  of  which  he  was  the  editor  :  ••  Three 
of  the  verses  you  have  quoted  in  the  '  Review '  of  the 
'  Token,'  as  specimens  of  the  excellence  of  pieces,  ivere 
inserted  by  the  editor,  in  the  place  of  expunged  stanzas"  I 
had  always  thought  highly,  and  spoken  highly,  of  the  poor 
fellow's  poetry,  long  before  I  knew  the  name  of  the  author, 
and  while  he  was  writing  occasional  verses  for  a  Boston  paper, 
without  a  signature  ;  but  the  fact  he  mentions  here,  must  have 
been  very  gratifying.  That  I  should  select  three  verses,  to 
speak  highly  of,  and  that  all  three  should  turn  out  to  be  his, 
must  have  satisfied  him  that  I  recognized,  as  by  elective 
affinity,  the  true  spirit  in  him,  and  the  golden  ore  of  true 
poetry. 

Soon  after  I  had  opened  fire,  and  lay  with  my  ground  tier 
double-shotted,  and  matches-lighted,  I  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  what  had  always  been  a  provoking  mystery  to  me.  I  did 
not  mind  being  abused  :  I  rather  throve  on  it,  indeed  ;  but 
then,  I  did  want  to  know  what  it  was  for.  I  knew  that  I  had 
been  cruelly  slandered,  not  only  misrepresented,  but  lied 
about,  year  after  year,  while  abroad,  by  at  least  twelve  hun 
dred  newspapers  of  the  land  ;  but  I  never  quite  understood 
why.  At  last,  it  came  to  me  like  a  revelation  from  —  I  will 
not  say  where. 

In  the  year  1818,  Mr.  Pierpont  had  made  me  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Joseph  Tinker,  alias  Joseph  Tinker  Buckingham,  a 
parishioner  of  his.  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  "  New-England 
Galaxy,"  wretchedly  poor,  desperate,  and  living  from  hand  to 
mouth.  I  liked  the  man.  I  liked  his  energy  and  boldness  ;  and 
after  taking  upon  my  hands  a  personal  quarrel,  which  he 
had  with  a  fourth-rate  English  actor,  who  had  come  into 
his  office  to  thrash  him  —  and  would  have  done  so, but  for  me  — 
I  advised  him  to  go  on.  and  lay  about  him,  right  and  left,  as 
with  a  flail,  until  his  power  should  be  felt  and  acknowledged, 
and  the  abuses  he  complained  of,  should  be  put  a  stop  to  ; 
offering,  at  the  same  time,  to  send  him  occasional  communica 
tions,  without  pay.  And  this  I  did  for  two  or  three  years, 


SETTLED    IX    PORTLAND.  339 

until,  having  disposed  of  Joseph  Lancaster,  whom  he  greatly 
wronged,  by  the  wav.  and  some  otliers.  he  beiran  to  assail  me. 
Instead  of  being  vexed  with  him.  however.  I  laughed  heartily 
at  the  t'reak.  whieh  was  intended  to  ]>rove  his  independence, 
even  of  friendship,  and  bade  him  "  God  speed  !  " 

While  abroad,  he  consigned  his  son  Joseph  to  rny  special 
care,  at  London.  I  did  my  best  to  promote  his  views,  with 
out  well  understanding  what  thev  were,  beyond  this,  that  hav 
ing  interchanged  a  "  sentiment  "  with  Kdward  Everett,  at  some 
public  meeting,  he  felt  himself  qualified  for  anv  thinix,  and 
therefore  had  established,  or  was  about  establishing,  a  new 
daily  paper,  the  "  lioston  Courier."  J  believe.  After  intro 
ducing  him  to  most  of  my  friends.  I  helped  him  off  to  Paris. 
Meanwhile,  the  press-gang,  the  whole  paperhood  of  America, 
were  baiting  and  badgering  me.  at  everv  turn,  without  my 
knowledge  at  the  time,  because,  forsooth,  in  dealing  with  our 
American  authors,  and  painters,  and  poets,  from  recollection, 
I  had  told  the  truth  of  them.  Buckingham  knew  this,  and 
knew.  also,  that  the  growing  prejudice  against  me  had  no  just 
foundation  :  that  hundreds  of  lies  were  bandied  about,  which  a 
word  from  him  — ••  iiery  darts,"  though  most  of  them  were  — 
would  have  quenched  for  ever.  Yet  that  word  he  never  wrote, 
and.  of  rour.-e.  never  spoke.  I  did  not  know  this  at  the  time, 
or  I  should  have  helped  him  to  something  he  would  have  been 
sorry  to  sup,  even  with  a  long-handled  spoon.  He  was  so 
unscrupulous,  not  to  say  unprincipled,  that  evervbodv  was 
afraid  of  him.  I  found.  This  rather  amused  me  ;  for  I  had 
Hung  down  my  gauntlet  in  our  first  issue  of  the  ""  Yankee." 
and  said  to  my  calumniators,  "  There's  my  hand  !  open  or 
shut:  take  your  choice/'  After  a  while,  lie  ventured  on  a 
fling  or  two.  which  J  did  not  quite  understand  nor  relish  ;  but 
I  kept  my  temper.  And  then,  having  hinted  that  something 
he  had  allowed  himself  to  say  about  a  Methodist  preacher 
—  Huntington,  I  believe — who  had  prayed  himself  into  a 
new  pair  of  breeches  —  was  not  calculated  to  make  friends 
of  the  reliirious  community.  Methodists  or  not.  he  had  the 
insolence  and  folly  to  threaten  me,  that,  if  I  gave  him  any 
more  advice,  he  would  let  the  people  of  Portland  know  who  I 
was.  Whereupon.  I  replied,  that  I  understood  him.  and  that 
if  lie  did  not  tell  the  story  —  it  .was  about  a  woman  I  had 


340  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

sent  to  Boston,  to  the  care  of  Cooper,  the  tragedian  —  and 
in  the  very  next  paper,  I  would  tell  it.  By  that  day's 
mail.  I  received  a  frightened,  warning  letter,  from  my  oljl 
friend  Pierpont,  who  knew  to  what  I  referred,  and  all  the 
circumstances,  asking  if  I  was  mad.  and  saying  that  the 
"  giant  "  —  meaning  my  adversary,  Mr.  Joseph  Tinker  Buck 
ingham —  "was  beginning  to  stir."  To  this  I  had  nothing  to 
say,  just  then.  The  result  was,  that  Buckingham  did  not  tell 
the  story,  and  I  did  ;  and  in  the  very  next  issue  of  the  "  Yankee." 
From  that  moment,  having  declared  war,  by  proclamation, 
according  to  established  usage,  sending  a  herald  into  the 
enemy's  camp,  we  had  it  broadside  after  broadside,  hot  and 
heavy,  till  he  struck  his  colors,  and  said,  with  a  piteous  wail, 
that  if  it  were  any  satisfaction  for  me  to  know  that  I  had 
almost  ruined  the  "  Galaxy,"  I  was  welcome  to  the  knowledge. 
And  there  the  war  ended  between  us,  and  for  ever ;  and  with 
in  a  few  months,  he  sold  out  the  "  Galaxy  "  to  Mr.  Moses 
Kimball.  of  the  Museum,  who  engaged  me  as  editor,  with  H. 
Hastings  Weld,  now  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  somewhere  in 
New  Jersey,  for  an  associate ;  and  then,  Mr.  Henry  F.  Har 
rington.  My  duties,  I  find,  began  on  the  1st  of  January, 
1835,  and  continued  for  one  year  —  a  long  while,  for  any  thing 
I  had  to  do  with.  I  wrote  voluminously,  but  with  so  faint  a 
recollection  of  what  I  did,  that  not  long  since,  on  being  asked, 
by  Mr.  Edinond  Quincy,  about  my  editor?-hip  of  the  "  Galaxy," 
I  had  entirely  forgotten  it,  though  1  well  remembered  writing 
for  the  paper. 

And  this  brings  to  my  recollection  another  case  —  one  of 
many  I  might  mention,  of  a  similar  character.  Everybody 
knows  Mr.  Francis  O.  J.  Smith.  We  had  a  quarrel  one  day 
about  a  case  before  the  Municipal-Court.  He  took  advantage 
of  a  poor  fellow,  and  had  him  defaulted,  when  he  knew  that 
he  had  a  legal  defence,  that  of  infancy,  which  I  refused  to 
plead  at  first,  and  that  he  had  gone  up  to  the  wrong  court 
under  a  misapprehension,  while  I  was  waiting  for  him,  gra 
tuitously.  Smith  was  insolent,  and  I  told  him,  in  so  many 
words,  that  he  was  a  disgrace  to  the  profession,  that  he  ought 
to  have  his  skin  stripped  over  his  ears,  and  that  I  should  lay 
the  case  before  a'  committee  of  the  bar.  With  this  view,  I 
called  on  General  Fesseuden,  president  of  the  bar  at  the  time, 


SETTLED    IX    PORTLAND.  341 

who  finally  persuaded  me  to  abandon  the  idea  :  Smith  having 
read  la\v  with  him,  and  beinu\  with  all  his  faults,  a  generous, 
whole-hearted  fellow,  of  uncommon  talents,  and  exalted  ambi 
tion.  Of  course.  I  had  nothing  more  to  say:  but  the  affair 
rankled  in  Smith's  recollection,  and  he  lost  no  opportunity, 
while  editor  of  the  "  Eastern  Argus,"  and  of  some  other  pa 
per,  I  believe,  though  I  am  not  sure,  of  ••  thorning "'  me.  as  he 
called  it.  Of  course.  I  did  not  bear  it  patiently  ;  and  our  fiery 
arrows  flew  thick  and  fast,  until  he.  too.  thought  proper  to  say, 
that,  if  I  did  not  hold  my  peace,  and  behave  better,  he  should 
feel  it  a  duty  to  enlighten  the  people  of  Portland  about  me. 
He  did  not  want  to  be  insulted  in  the  street,  knocked  down, 
or  prosecuted,  he  said  :  otherwise,  he  would  do  it  at  once. 
Whereupon.  I  called  upon  him  to  say  any  thing  he  pleased 
of  me.  true  or  false,  pledging  myself  not  to  insult  nor  strike 
him:  and  saying,  that  if  he  should  be  prosecuted  for  a  libel, 
I  would  defend  him  ;  and  if  he  should  be  fined.  I  would  pay 
the  fine,.  I  give  the  language  from  recollection.  I  cannot, 
of  course,  be  sure  of  the,  words,  though  I  am  of  the  substance. 
And  what  think  you  was  .Air.  Smith's  reply?  After  some 
delay,  he  comes  out.  and  quoting  from  one  of  my  extravagant 
romances,  where  a  character  is  made  to  say.  "  I  have  sinned 
almost  beyond  the  mercy  of  God"  —  exclaims.  "There! 
that's  the  man  himself!  What  more  do  we  want?" 

Of  course,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  ;  for  what 
could  I  say  to  such  an  accusation,  so  urged,  and  so  supported  ? 
From  that  day  to  this,  however,  though  somewhat  slowly,  for 
the  first  ten  or  a  dozen  years,  we  have  been  growing  better 
acquainted,  until,  at  last.  I  am  willing  to  acknowledge,  that 
Mr.  Francis  O.  J.  Smith  is  not  so  bad  a  man.  after  all ;  and 
wish  he  might  be  able  to  say  the  same  thing  of  me.  With 
all  our  faults,  and  they  are  plentiful  enough,  and  large  enough, 
I  do  believe  in  my  heart,  that  we  have  both  lived  to  some 
purpose,  and  mainly  to  a  good  purpose.  To  him.  after  Morse, 
are  we  indebted  for  the  telegraph  ;  the  people  of  Portland,  for 
the  introduction  of  Lras.  and  some  other  enterprises  here,  not 
fully  matured,  which  promise  well  for  this  neighborhood. 

But  to  return.  While  I  was  occupied  with  the  "  Yankee," 
and  somewhat  busy  with  law  and  literature._sparring  and 
fencing.  1  began  to  have  students.  Among  the  first,  was  Mr. 


342  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

James  Brooks,  now  of  the  "New- York  Express,"  and  an  M.C., 
theii  fresh  out  of  Waterville  College,  with  a  good  reputation 
for    talent    and    scholarship.      He    wanted    to    write    for    the 
"Yankee,"  and  I  encouraged  him  ;  but  the  first  paper  was  too 
well  written  by  hair' — much  too  classical  —  after  the  manner 
of  Dr.  Blair  and   Allison.     I  would   not  allow  it   to  appear, 
without  many  changes  ;  but  he   had    the   pluck    I  wanted   to 
see,  and  he  gave  up  writing  in  a  dead  language,  and  began  to 
talk  on  paper.     This  saved  him,  and  finally  obtained  for  him, 
first,  the  means  of  support  in   one  of  our  schools,  then   the 
editorship    of    our    oldest    and    best    paper,    the    "  Portland 
Advertiser,"  then  employment  at  Washington,  as  a  reporter, 
then   the  means  of  going  abroad,  as  a  correspondent  of  the 
same  paper,  and  then  the  editorship   and  part-ownership  of 
the  •'  Express."  with   a  seat  in    Congress  ;  where,  having  re 
nounced  and  abjured  all   his  old  convictions,  and  lost  all  his 
old  political  friends,  he  is  now  warring  to  the  knife  against 
the  very  principles  that  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  himself,  when 
he  lived  here,  and  was,  at  one  time,  a  candidate  of  the  Whigs, 
for  Congress,  and  came  near  being  sent,  I   believe.     And,  by 
the    way,    this    reminds    me    of    a    curious    incident,    which 
occurred  while  he  was  reading  law  with  me.     A  communica 
tion  for  the  -Yankee"  was  received,  entitled,  "Johnny  Bea 
dle's  Courtship."     There  were  not  a  few  capital  touches  in  it, 
but    many    faults,    and    lost    opportunities.       I    made    such 
alterations  and  additions  as  T  thought   proper.     It  was  well 
received,  and  frequently  republished  ;  and  I  alwavs   believed 
it  had  be«'ii  written  by  a  young  engraver  and  portrait-painter, 
whom  I  had  taken  into  my  back  ollice,  named  Appleton.      He 
did  not  acknowledge  it  in  so  many  words,  to   be  sure,  but, 
when  charged  with  it,  did  not  deny  the  "soft  impeachment." 
After  a  while,  it  was  credited  to  Mr.  James  Brooks :  I  know 
not  why,  for  it  was  wholly  unlike  his  doings  ;  but,  one  day, 
many  years  later,  it  came  to  my  knowledge,  that  it  had  been 
written   by   Captain  McClintock,  of  the   United-States  army, 
who  complained  bitterly  of  the  alterations,  and  amendments, 
and  threatened   to  reproduce   the  story  as  originally  written. 
But  he  never  did,  and.  I  dare  say,  it  was  well  for  him  that  he  did 
not;  for  another  Yankee  story  of  his  appeared  somewhere,  1 
tbrget  where,  which  was  intended  to  be  very  funny,  but  hung 


SETTLED    IX    PORTLAND.  o43 

fire,  and  has  never  been  mentioned  since.  .  my  knowledge. 
Meanwhile,  happening  to  he  in  New-York.  I  was  invited  to  a 
dinner  at  Dehnonico's.  one  day.  by  Colonel  .lames  Watson 
Webb,  where  I  met  Major  Noah.  Mr.  Verplank,  and  other  celeb 
rities.  After  the  diniK.-r  teas  through,  us  people  say  —  meaning. 
1  harjlv  know  what  —  I  was  called  upon  to  reply  to  a  toast, 
as  the  supposed  author  of  "Johnny  Ueadle's  Courtship."  I 
declined,  of  course  :  but  while  some  were  ascribing  it  to  Mr. 
lirooks.  and  others  to  me.  as  if  ir  were  really  something  of 
importance.  I  told  the  company,  that  it  was  by  neither  of  us; 
and  1  have  a  notion  that  I  gave  young  Appleton  as  the 
author,  and  that  I  did  not  know,  till  two  or  three  years  later, 
what  McClintock  had  to  do  with  it.  On  the  whole,  there  was 
a  strange  confusion  of  thought  on  the  •ubject.  It  was  called, 
by  some  of  the  party,  "  Johnny  l>eadle's  Sleigh-ride/'  or 
"The  Sleigh-ride."  Now.  I  had  written  a  storv  for  the  sec 
ond  volume  of  the  "  Yankee,"  after  it  ceased  to  be  a  weakly, 
and  had  become  a  monthly,  under  that  very  title,  ''The 
Sleigh-ride."  lint  such  mistake*  have  been  frequent  in  my 
experience.  Again  and  again  have  I  been  complimented  for 
my  ••  Charcoal  Sketches."  and  have  been  obliged  to  say.  that, 
although  1  wrote  the  lirst.  which  appeared  in  a  magazine 
for  .June.  1  *.')<>,  the  others  were  by  .Joseph  C.  Xeal,  who 
borrowed  mv  heading,  and  threw  oil'  a  series  of  ••  Char 
coal  Sketche.-,"  most  of  which  were  exceedingly  clever;  and 
one.  "  1  he  Loafer,"  I  believe,  which  I  should  have  been  de 
lighted  to  acknowledge,  if  I  could. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  a  question  that  has  been  often 
asked —  Whv  it  is  that  I  have  never  held  otlice,  nor  been  in 
public  life.  Let  me  answer  that  question  while  I  think  of  it. 
1  never  had  a  thirst  for  office,  though  I  have  had  two  or  three 
narrow  escapes  —  the  narrowest,  perhaps,  in  this  way.  I  was 
once  called  to  the  platform,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  about  the  time 
when  k%  Know-nothingism  "  was  raging,  and  introduced  to  the 
people  as  the  Mayor  of  Portland.  Whereupon,  I  felt  obliged 
to  say.  that  I  never  had  been,  and  was  not  then,  and  never 
expected  to  be.  the  Mayor  of  Portland;  that  the  nearest  I 
ever  came  to  that  honor,  was  at  an  election,  where,  although 
I  was  not  even  a  candidate,  one  vote  was  cast  for  me  —  and 
that  the  people  said  I  had  cast  for  myself.  This  brought  down 
the  house,  and  no  further  explanations  were  needed. 


344  WANDEIIING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  cannot  deny  that  I  have  been  thought  of.  more  than  once, 
and  actually  mentioned  in  the  newspapers,  either  as  a  candi 
date,  or  as  willing  to  be  a  candidate.  And  once,  when  I  was 
on  a  visit  here  —  and.  if  I  do  not  mistake,  at  the  very  time 
of  mv  controversy  with  Dr.  Payson,  and  my  explanation 
with  Master  Patten  —  it  was  suggested,  quite  seriously,  by 
the  late  Isaac  Adams,  a  leading  politician  of  the  day,  that, 
if  1  would  pull  up  stakes  at  Baltimore,  and  settle  in  Port 
land,  I  should  be  sent  to  Congress.  But  I  wouldn't,  and  — 
wasn't. 

Again :  I  was  mentioned,  and  fairly  advertised,  for  the 
senate  of  Maine,  I  believe,  the  very  year  that  Governor  Kent 
was  elected  ;  but  nothing  came  of  it.  I  never  did  run  well, 
I  never  could,  I  never  shall. 

And  furthermore  —  after  a  great  overthrow  of  the  Democ 
racy,  at  the  time  of  Harrison's  election,  having  labored  in 
season,  and  out  of  season,  too,  for  the  great  cause,  by  travel 
ling,  and  speechifying,  and  writing,  and  prophesying,  at  no 
little  outlay,  both  of  time  and  money  ;  paying  my  own  ex 
penses,  and  sometimes  the  expenses  of  other  people  —  I  was 
distinctly  urged  to  accept  the  office  of  United-States  District- 
Attorney,  then  about  to  be  vacated  by  my  friend  Judge  How 
ard.  I  consented ;  and  having  obtained  lots  of  signatures 
and  letters,  by  personal  application,  of  which  I  was  heartily 
ashamed,  until  another  opportunity  occurred,  had  just  sent  off 
the  application,  when  I  was  informed  that  the  late  Honorable 
John  Holmes  wanted  the  office,  and  was  poor  enough  to  need 
it.  My  papers  were  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Webster  —  only  to 
be  overlooked,  or  forgotten,  I  dare  say  —  when  I  withdrew  my 
application,  and  Mr.  Holmes  took  the  office  he  so  well  de 
served,  and  so  worthily  occupied. 

My  next  attempt  —  considering  I  was  no  office-seeker,  as  I 
have  said  before  —  was  yet  more  uncomfortable  and  mortify 
ing.  Not  long  ago,  but  just  when  I  most  needed  a  lift,  the 
Board  of  Trade  here,  without  consulting  me,  and  without  my 
knowledge  or  consent,  proposed  my  name  for  Postmaster,  at  a 
meeting  held  for  quite  another  purpose.  Hearing  of  this,  a 
day  or  two  after,  and  not  willing  that  others  should  do  for  me 
what  I  was  not  willing  to  do  for  myself,  I  lost  no  time  in 
obtaining  both  letters  and  names  ;  all  which  resulted  in  the 


SETTLED    IX    PORTLAND.  345 

appointment  of  Judge  Woodbury  Davis,  who  told  me  himself, 
tiiat  he  didn't  want  it.  had  never  even  a>ked  for  tin.'  office, 
and  didn't  know  that  he  sliould  take  it.  So  much  for  polities 
and  politician-  !  An«i  >o  much  for  electioneering  and  engineer 
ing!  Henceforth.  I'll  none  of  it.  Sour  irrapes.  at  the  best, 
are  hardly  worth  jumping  so  high  for.  After  laboring  more 
than  liftv  years,  for  and  with  one  partv.  through  good  report, 
and  through  e\il  report,  without  faltering,  or  flinching,  or 
shirking  —  never  holding  ollice.  nor  even  asking  for  oilice, 
until  uru'ed  bv  partv-leadcrs  to  accept  office —  to  be  fobbed  off 
in  this  \vav,  like  a  superannuated  beggar,  was  a  little  too  much 
for  me  —  "much  too  much."  I  ininht  say. 

I  was  now  beginning  to  breathe  freely  once  more,  and.  of 
course,  felt  obliged  to  keep  the  community  astir,  lest  we  should 
all  go  to  sleep  together,  settle  on  our  lees,  or  stagnate  in  our 
marriage-beds.  The  "Yankee"  was  doing  wonders  ;  but  won 
ders  did  not  satisfy  me.  We  wanted  a  city-government. 
Our  old-fashioned  municipal  government  was  frightful! v  ex 
pensive  and  wasteful,  if  the  time  of  a  laboring  population 
was  worth  anv  thing,  and.  withal,  exceedingly  changeable, 
inellicient.  and  uncertain.  Two  attempts,  followed  hy  two 
wretched  failures,  had  been  made  :  one.  I  believe,  by  no  less 
u  persona^'  than  Mr.  F.  ( ).  J.  Smith,  supported  bv  the  whole 
strength  of  the  democratic  partv.  before  the  first  of  his  many 
changes.  After  weighing  the  matter  well.  I  undertook  it, 
anew.  We  had  town-meetings  called  :  at  one  of  which,  my 
good  uncle.  James  Neal.  denounced  me.  in  conversation,  as  an 
aristocrat,  and  insisted  upon  it.  that  I  had  been  too  long 
abroad  ;  while  others  appeared  to  think  I  had  not  been  abroad 
long  enough.  Meanwhile,  I  issued  a  sort  of  manifesto,  on  a 
single  pau'e,  headed,  substantially,  in  this  way:  ''Thirty-one 
unanswerable  reasons  —  answered."  This  finished  the  busi 
ness  ;  for  I  had  answered,  fully  and  completely,  every  objec 
tion  that  had  ever  been  raised,  to  my  knowledge.  This  I 
followed  up  with  a  pamphlet  of  about  fifty  octavo  pages,  with 
tables,  petitions,  on  both  sides,  and  statistic-,  giving  undenia 
ble  statistics,  where  necessarv.  The  result  of  which  was, 
notwithstanding  the  bitter  and  exasperated  opposition  among 
our  wealthiest  property-holders,  an  immediate  and  overwhelm 
ing  triumph.  An  act  of  incorporation  was  had.  and  our  pres- 


346  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

ent  city  government  organized  without  losing  a  day.  What 
next?  We  were  without  side-walks;  our  streets  were  impas 
sable  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year ;  foot-passengers  could 
not  wade  through  portions  of  Middle-Street :  and  if  you  saw 
an  aged  man  poking  about  in  the  mud,  with  a  cane,  you  were 
tempted  to  ask  if  anybody  was  missing.  Here,  too,  common 
sense  and  foresight  prevailed  over  long-established  prejudices  ; 
and  we  soon  had,  not  only  brick  side-walks,  instead  of  rotten 
plank ;  and  mica-slate,  or  talco-slate  crossings,  instead  of  cob 
ble-stones,  and  bottomless-pits.  And  then,  we  wanted  some 
thing  more  :  a  Park,  if  it  was  to  be  had,  or,  at  any  rate, 
breathing-places,  at  both  ends  of  the  peninsula,  where  the 
population  could  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  and  look  out 
upon  panoramas  of  unequalled  beauty  and  vastness,  with  the 
White  Hills  on  one  side,  and  the  broad  Atlantic  on  the  other, 
and  such  skies — you'll  excuse  me,  I  hope  —  as  are  to  be 
seen  nowhere  else  upon  earth ;  owing  to  the  distribution  and 
arrangement  of  sea  and  river,  cove  and  lakelet ;  and  so,  after 
a  brief,  but  exasperating  struggle,  we  had  a  five-mile  drive, 
with  the  two  beautiful  promenades,  which  render  Portland  so 
attractive  to  strangers,  poets,  and  landscape-painters.  And, 
by  the  way,  this  reminds  me  of  asking  where  on  earth  a  pop 
ulation  is  to  be  found,  varying  from  about  seven  or  eight 
thousand,  up  to  thirty-five  thousand,  or  thereabouts,  which 
have  turned  out  so  many  poets  and  landscape-painters?  Com 
pare  Portland  with  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  New- York,  Cin 
cinnati,  or  Chicago,  to  say  nothing  of  smaller  communities, 
and  then  tell  me,  if  you. can,  why  Portland  has  been  so  fruit 
ful,  and  they  so  barren  ?  We  have  Neal  —  that's  myself,  in 
order  of  time,  the  first —  Grenville  Mellen,  Frederick  Melleii, 
Longfellow,  Willis,  Cutter,  Florence  Percy,  so  called,  though 
born  elsewhere,  and  at  least  a  dozen  other  capital  newspaper 
poets,  whose  names  I  cannot  recall  just  now,  with  Codman, 
Tilton,  Brown,  Beckett,  Hudson,  all  distinguished,  and  some 
celebrated,  both  abroad  and  at  home,  for  landscape,  with  half 
a  score  at  present  undistinguished,  but  who  threaten  to  be 
heard  of  hereafter;  and  some.  I  know,  will  keep  their  promise. 
Here,  too,  we  have  had  Paul  Akers.  and  his  brother  Charles, 
and  Simmons,  now  abroad,  for  sculptors  ;  all  the  inevitable 
growth  of  our  large,  wholesome,  and  beautiful  scenery,  and 
well-marked  individualities. 


HOME    TRIALS.  347 

Iii  the  midst  of  these  triumphs,  however.  I  had  occasional 
head-Haws:  two  or  three  of  which  may  he  worth  mentioning 
here.  One  dav  —  it  was  in  August.  IM'S —  I  found  in  mv 
letter-box,  a  communication  for  the  "  Yankee."  .signed  "  Au 
gusta."  and  written  in  a  delicate,  female  hand  Suspecting 
no  mischief.  I  allowed  it  to  appear,  with  an  editorial,  depre 
cating  the  condemnation  of  our  wealthiest  men.  for  niggardli 
ness,  and  protesting  not  only  against  some  of  the  conclusions, 
hut  denying  seme  of  the  facts.  Nevertheless,  believing  it 
would  do  more  <:ood  than  harm,  and  not  suspecting  it  to  he 
personal,  and  most  offensively  personal.  1  gave  it  a  birth. 
The  next  day.  I  had  a  hornet's-nest  about  my  ears.  Hut  who 
was  tlu;  author?  I  had  no  idea.  On  having  the  whole  affair 
explained  to  me.  I  sent  over  to  the  printing-office,  obtained  the 
manuscript,  and  put  it  into  the  hands  of  a  third  party.  It 
proved  to  be  from  the  mischief-making,  meddlesome  Neal 
Dow  —  a  man  who  was  taking  lessons  in  sparring  of  me  at 
the  time,  was  under  my  charge  at  the  gymnasium,  and 
saw  me  every  day  of  his  life,  .still.  I  did  not  suspect  him  of 
any  evil  purpose,  and  looked  upon  it  rather  as  a  strange  indis 
cretion,  to  commit  me  so  cruelly,  by  sending  to  my  paper  a 
disguised  and  anonymous  communication,  of  such  a  nature, 
without  saving  a  word  to  me  on  the  subject.  But  this,  let 
me  add.  was  only  the  beginning  of  that  man's  crafty,  cowardly, 
and  treacherous  maiueuvivs.  whereby  he  succeeded  in  deceiv 
ing  me.  for  many  years,  and  betraying  me  at  last — and  himself 
—  in  such  a  way.  that  I  had  no  longer  any  excuse  for  thinking 
well  of  him.  much  less  for  defending  him  :  but  of  all  this 
hereafter.  The  consequences  of  that  publication  were  quite 
serious  for  me  and  mine.  It  embroiled  me  with  a  family, 
having  a  large  connection,  related  to  ours,  both  by  blood  and 
marriage,  and  every  way  respectable  :  embittering  a  whole 
neighborhood,  together  with  many  of  our  worthiest  and 
wealthiest  men.  so  that  a  feud  sprung  up  between  our  fam 
ilies,  which  has  continued  to  this  day.  among' our  descendants, 
with  here  and  there  a  single  exception.  l»ut  such  trials,  like 
misfortunes,  never  come  alone.  For  example:  — 

I  had  been  making  war  upon  lotteries,  from  the  day  that 
;>  Logan "  appeared,  wherein  I  had  argued  the  question  at 
length,  and  shown  clearly  that  lotteries  furnished  the  largest 


348  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

temptation  to  the  worst  kind  of  gambling ;  since  people  might 
plav  for  thousands,  without  being  known  or  suspected,  or  los 
ing  their  characters,  if  they  grew  rich  by  it :  but,  on  the  con 
trary,  as  churches  were  built  by  lotteries,  and  even  the 
Baltimore  Washington-monument,  so  that  he  who  employed  the 
money  of  others,  upon  a  calculation  that  what  he  lost  was  his 
creditors',  while  what  he  gained  was  his  own,  might  pass  for 
a  godly  man,  or  a  patriot.  And  I  came  near  losing  my  best 
friend — Henry  Robinson,  of  Baltimore,  one  of  the  partners 
with  "  Waite  and  Co.,"  the  great  lottery -dealers  —  by  what  I 
said  of  the  business  in  "  Logan."  Abroad,  I  argued  against 
legislative  encouragement ;  showing  the  inconsistency  of  the 
lawgivers,  who  punish  street-gambling  for  pennies,  or  mar 
bles,  paw-paw,  thimble-rigging,  faro,  &c.,  while  they  made  it 
honorable  and  patriotic  to  gamble  for  thousands,  or  tens  of 
thousands,  in  a  lottery ;  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
most  of  my  arguments  repeated  in  the  House-of-Commons. 

On  my  return  to  Portland,  I  was  both  grieved  and  aston 
ished  to  find  scores  of  lottery-offices  established,  and  in  full 
blast,  along  our  busiest  thoroughfares.  No  sooner  was  the 
••  Yankee  "  fairly  under  way,  than  I  opened  fire  upon  all  these 
offices,  and  all  their  aiders  and  abettors,  both  at  the  bar,  and  in 
our  legislative-halls,  and  never  rested,  until  the  system  was  up 
rooted,  not  only  here,  but  everywhere,  throughout  our  whole 
countrv,  with  two  or  three  shameful  exceptions.  And  so  with 
the  militia-system,  which  I  attacked,  first,  in  the  "  Westmin 
ster  Review,"  and  tore  up  by  the  roots,  after  my  return,  to 
gether  with  imprisonment  for  debt. 

While  I  was  pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  my  way  —  perhaps 
it  was  rather  odd,  than  even,  though,  after  all  —  I  came  near 
being  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  my  pains.  One  evening,  I 
happened  to  pull  out  a  drawer  in  my  secretary,  wherein  I 
found  three  or  four  bank-notes  —  all  of  which  I  knew  to  be 
counterfeits,  except  ow,  but  had  crossed  and  put  aside,  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  the  parties  who  had  passed  them  to  me.  So 
long  a  time  had  gone  by,  however,  that  I  took  these  out,  and 
threw  them  into  the  fire.  A  son  of  my  friend  Robinson,  al 
ready  mentioned,  was  sitting  near  me,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
don't  burn  them,  father  !"  —  he  always  called  me  father  — k' I 
want  'em :  give  them  to  me ! "  *•  No,  no,  my  boy,"  said  I, 


HOME    TRIALS.  349 

<;  they  would  be  likely  to  get  yon  into  a  scrape  ;  but  here  is 
one  —  a  rive-dollar  bill,  not  crossed,  you  see.  because  I  do  not 
believe  it  a  counterfeit.  You  may  take  this  up  to  Mr.  Solo 
mon  Mudge.  the  broker,  ard  see  if  it  is  good."  He  went, 
and  soon  returned,  saying,  "  The  bill  is  good,  but  the  bank  has 
failed.  It  is  worth  about  fifty  cents  on  a  dollar,  savs  Mr. 
Mudge.'1 —  *•  Go  back,  and  take  whatever  he  will  give."  said 
1.  After  a  few  minutes,  he  returned,  saying  Mr.  Mudge 
would  only  pay  in  lottery-tickets.  Here  was  a  temptation  ! 
and  I  was  blockhead  enough  to  be  caught.  "•  Very  well,''  said 
I,  "take  lottery-tickets,  then  ;  and  we'll  see  what  comes  of 
it."  lie  went,  and  soon  returned,  with  two  or  three  sixteenths 
of  something.  I  forget  what.  AVhen  they  were  handed  to  me,, 
I  put  them  into  a  little  drawer,  saying,  '•  If  they  produce  any 
thing.  Charley,  you  shall  have  the  proceeds."  Charley  then 
left  us  for  a  walk.  While  he  was  gone,  a  thundering  knock 
was  heard  at  the  door;  and  when  it  was  opened,  a  rough- 
looking  fellow  entered,  without  ceremony,  and  asked  for  the 
lad  living  with  jne.  who  had  just  passed  a  counterfeit-bill  to 
him.  for  lottery-tickets.  I  inquired  into  the  circumstances, 
and  he  said  that  when  he  objected  to  the  bill,  the  boy  told 
him  that  he  had  just  shown  it  to  Mr.  Mudge.  who  declared  it 
a  "  true  bill."  though  the  bank  had  gone  into  liquidation  ;  that 
he  had  called  on  Mr.  Mudge.  who  declared  he  had  never  seen 
either  boy  or  bill  before.  The  fellow  was  very  angry,  and 
growing  insolent  ;  and  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  ordering 
him  out  of  the  house,  or  of  pitching  him  headlong  into  the  street, 
for  I  had  told  him  plainly,  that,  if  there  was  any  thing  wrong 
in  the  transaction,  I  should  not  screen  the  boy.  and  he  would 
have  to  take  the  consequences  ;  but,  while  we  were  talking  to 
gether,  Charley  returned ;  and.  when  questioned  and  con 
fronted  with  the  accuser,  reiterated  what  he  had  told  us  both, 
and  without  a  sign  of  embarrassment.  I  believed  him,  and 
said  so.  The  fellow  grew  more  saucy  ;  and  I  took  the  liberty 
of  suggesting,  before  I  kicked  him  out.  that  counterfeit-bills 
were  good  enough  pay  for  lottery-tickets.  After  he  was 
gone.  1  sent  Charles  with  a  note  for  Mr.  Mudge,  asking  him 
to  say  what  had  happened.  The  note  was  answered,  not  by 
Mr.  Mudge.  but  by  Mr.  Capen,  his  clerk  ;  who  said  that  it 
was  he,  and  not  Mudge,  who  lutd  answered  the  boy's  inquiry, 


350  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

confirming  his  statement  in  every  particular.  Of  course,  I 
felt  relieved,  not  on  my  own  account,  but  on  his.  On  further 
consideration,  however,  I  found  that  the  insolent  scoundrel 
had  me  on  the  hip.  My  wile  could  not  be  a  \\itness;  and, 
by  charging  me  with  the  boy,  I  could  not  be  a  witness  for  him, 
till  tried  and  acquitted. 

Next  morning,  my  friend,  General  Fessenden,  who  occu 
pied  offices  on  the  opposide  side  of  the  stair-way,  called  on 
me,  and  stated  that  lie  had  just  left  Judge  Fitch,  of  the 
Municipal-Court,  who  had  told  him  that  a  complaint  had 
been  entered  against  the  poor  boy  and  myself,  and  that  it 
"looked  very  black!"  I  must  confess  that  I  didn't  much  like 
the  position  I  occupied  :  but  trusting  in  my  innocence,  and 
abundant  resources,  much  as  I  had  once  in  London,  before 
Sir  Richard  Birnie,  after  finding  no  less  than  three  empty 
purses  in  my  coat-pocket,  and  my  own  purse  missing  from 
my  trousers'-pocket,  with  every  shilling  I  had  on  earth,  on 
my  return  from  the  theatre  —  I  walked  up  to  the  captain's 
office,  without  winking,  to  settle  my  fare.  I  found  the  lottery- 
man  there,  the  complaint  made  out,  and  the  judge  waiting 
for  him  to  sign  it.  After  reading  it  over,  I  called  for  the  sig 
nature.  The  fellow  hesitated,  and  grew  pale.  I  persisted, 
and  finally  offered  him  fifty  dollars  on  the  spot,  if  he  would 
sign  it.  But  no:  he  began  to  have  his  misgivings  ;  and  after 
I  had  told  the  story  in  my  own  way,  just  as  I  have  told  it 
now,  refused  absolutely.  Six  or  twelve  months  after  this,  he 
came  up  to  me,  and  apologized,  saying,  he  had  been  put  up  to 
it  by  others,  and  that  he _  would  have  acknowledged  the  truth 
long  before,  but  for  his  dread  of  my  violent  temper ;  the 
wretches  who  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  conspiracy,  whose 
names  I  would  give  at  length,  but  for  a  promise  I  then  made, 
having  assured  him  that  it  would  be  as  much  as  his  life  was 
worth,  to  enlighten  me.  But  the  best  of  the  joke  remains  to 
be  told.  I  took  the  bill  with  me  to  New-York,  on  going 
there  as  a  delegate  to  the  "National  Lyceum,"  and  went  to  a 
broker  in  Wall-Street,  who  assured  me  the  bill  was  not  coun 
terfeit! —  that  it  was  worth  something,  but  how  much,  he 
couldn't  say.  till  he  saw  the  President,  whom  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  meeting  almost  every  day.  I  left  the  bill  with  him, 
and  called  in  a  hurry  on  the  morning  of  my  return  to  Port- 


MAGAZINE    WRTTIXfiS.  351 

land.  The  broker  was  not  to  be  found  :  though  I  am  quite 
sure  I  found  his  kennel.  And  there  the  matter  ended. 

While  these,  and  other  transactions,  of  a  similar  nature, 
were  happening.  I  had  begun  to  write  for  the  magazines,  the 
annu.ds.  and  the  newspapers;  beside  publishing,  at  Portland, 
"  RacliL'l  Dyer."  one  volume,  in  1828;  "Authorship,"  at  Bos 
ton,  one  volume,  in  1830;  and  the  "  Down-Easters,"  at  New 
York,  two  volumes,  in  1833. 

The  periodicals  I  wrote  for  at  the  same  time,  were  the  fol 
lowing  :  the  "  Atlantic  Souvenir.''  and  "  The;  Token."  as 
loir.:  as  thev  were  issued  ;  the  "  Portland  Magazine."  edited 
bv  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens,  whom  I  helped  from  her  first 
monthly,  until  she  was  able  to  sing  for  herself,  and  had  got 
beyond  mv  reach;  the  "  New-York  Mirror,"  and  the  "  New 
Mirror."  as  long  as  they  lasted;  the  "Ladies'  Companion," 
through  seven  volumes,  from  1837  to  1843;  the  "Columbian 
Magazine."  one  volume,  in  1844;  "The  Family  Companion," 
published  in  Macon,  Georgia,  two  volumes,  1841  and  1842; 
the  "  Brother  Jonathan."  through  1843.  while  edited  by  Park 
Benjamin,  after  the  "New-Yorker"  had  been  given  up,  or 
swamped,  bv  him  and  Mr.  Greeley,  whom  I  mortally  offended 
by  refusing  to  write  for  it.  on  his  application,  unless  paid  in 
advance.  I  had  suffered  so  much  by  eleemosynary  magazines 
and  newspapers,  which  promised  little,  and  paid  less,  that,  for 
a  lonu  while.  1  had  a  stereotyped  answer  for  all  new  enter 
prises —  "Instead  of  sending  you  my  contributions,  and  leav 
ing  you  to  say  how  much  they  are  worth,  you  may  send  me 
what  vou  please,  and  I  will  say  how  much  your  money  is 
worth.7'  Of  coursu.  it  looked  as  if  I  distrusted  the  man  him 
self,  though  I  did  not.  and  he  never  forgave  me;  but  Mr. 
Benjamin  applied  to  me  anew,  as  soon  as  he  had  cut  loose 
from  Mr.  Greeley,  and  1  continued  to  write  for  the  '•  Brother 
Jonathan "  till  it  breathed  its  last.  I  wrote  also  for  the 
"  New-England  Magazine."  u  Ladies'  Amulet,"  "  American 
Ladies'  Magazine,"  "  Sartain's  Magazine,"  for  4'  Godey,"  for 
the  "  Indicator,"  for  the  "  Union  Magazine,"  for  the  "  Colum 
bian  Magazine.''  for  the  "  Dollar  Magazine,"  for  the  "  Boston 
Book,"  the  "Ladies'  Miscellany,"  the  "Pioneer."  the  "Ever 
green."  the  "Ladies'  Magazine."  and  "Literary  Gazette"  — 
most  of  these  papers  I  have  lately  had  occasion  to  review  ;  and 


352  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  must  say.  that,  although  I  thought  highly  of  them  when  first 
written  —  too  highly,  perhaps  —  I  think  better  of  them  now 
than  ever,  with  a  few  exceptions:  for  the  "United-States 
Magazine."  through  1856  and  1857;  for  "Emerson's  and 
Putnam's  Monthly,"  in  1857:  for  the  ''North-American  Re 
view  ; "  for  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Half's  Magazine ;  for  another, 
edited  by  Mr.  James  Russell  Lowell,  and  a  Mr.  Carter,  whom 
I  have  lost  sight  of  for  many  years  ;  for  the  "  Knickerbocker," 
when  first  launched  ;  for  "  Graham's  Magazine  ; "  for  the 
"Northern  Monthly,"  and  at  least  half  a  score  of  other  maga 
zines,  most  of  which  were  strangled  at  birth,  while  none  of 
the  others  lived  through  teething ;  for  the  New-York  '•  Cou 
rier,  and  Enquirer,"  at  a  regular  salary,  for  one  or  two 
years;  for  the  New-York  "Sun."  as  a  correspondent;  for  all 
the  papers  of  Portland,  year  after  year,  now  on  the  subject 
of  Temperance,  or  Banking,  or  Imprisonment  for  Debt,  which 
I  had  been  warring  with,  at  home  and  abroad,  ever  since 
1818;  now  upon  the  Militia-System,  Slavery,  and  Coloniza 
tion,  now  upon  Woman's  Rights,  and  now  in  favor  of  the 
"  Atlantic  and  St.  Lawrence  Railroad ; "  on  some  of  which 
leading  subjects,  I  threw  off,  literally,  volume  after  volume. 
And  still  later,  I  have  written  and  published,  "  One  Word 
More,"  a  religious  work,  and  ''True  Womanhood,"  a  novel, 
stories  without  number,  poems  by  the  score,  criticisms  upon 
Literature  and  the  Fine  Arts  by  the  acre,  and,  last  of  all,  two 
or  three  dime-novels,  and  other  stories  for  "  Beadle,"  and 
"  Beadle's  Monthly,"  any  one  of  which  would  have  gone  far 
to  establish  any  man's  reputation  abroad ;  another  for  "  Daw- 
ley,"  entitled,  "  Live  Yankees,  or  Down-Ea?ters  at  Home  ;  " 
a  favorite  title  with  me,  which  I  had  forgotten  at  the  time  it 
first  appeared  in  the  "  Pen  and  Pencil ; "  with  memoirs  and 
sketches,  for  the  "Atlantic  Magazine,"  and  essays  for  the 
"  Phrenological  Journal,"  month  after  month,  until,  having 
gone  back  to  my  profession,  for  the  sake  of  my  son,  I  cannot, 
for  the  life  of  me,  find  any  thing  better  to  do  than  to  brush  up 
my  "  Wandering  Recollections,"  before  it  is  too  late;  partly 
because  I  cannot  be  idle,  and  partly  to  keep  myself  out  of 
mischief,  in  the  hope  that  others  may  profit  by  them,  though 
I  should  not. 

Perhaps,  however,  it  would  not  be  out  of  place  to  say  here, 


SETTLED    IN    PORTLAND.  353 

that  within  the  first  twelvemonth  after  I  opened  in  my 
office,  in  Portland,  a  great  change  in  my  favor  took  place 
among  the  people  about  me.  One  little  incident  may  be 
enough  to  show  bow  it  worked  here.  I  have  already  men 
tioned  that  General  Samnel  Fessenden,  the  fatber  of  William 
Pitt  Fessenden.  and  of  two  or  three  other  General  Fessendens, 
had  offices  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  passage-way,  into  which 
mv  rooms  opened.  One  evening,  after  the  second  case  had 
ended,  in  which  we  had  been  opposed,  and  in  my  favor,  he 
came  into  mv  office,  when  the  labors  of  the  day  were  over, 
and.  after  sitting  awhile  in  dead  silence,  broke  out  suddenly 
with,  "  Do  you  remember  when  you  called  to  inquire  about 
our  taking  offices  on  the  same  floor  ?  " — "  Perfectly  !  " — "  Well, 
do  you  know,  that,  alter  we  understood  you  were  coming  in, 
we  thought  seriously  of  staying  where  we  were.''  — k>  And  why  ? 
On  my  account  ': *' —  "  Precisely  ;  Deblois  and  I  hesitated  a  long 
while,  about  coming  under  the  same  roof  with  you.'" — "And 
why  ?  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  perplexing  and  astonishing, 
do  tell  me  why  ?  " —  "  Because  we  were  afraid  of  you." —  "-Afraid 
of  me  !  and  for  what  reason  pray  ?  "  —  "I  wish  I  could  tell 
you;  but,  somehow,  we  had  £fot  it  into  our  heads  —  I  know 
not  how  —  that  you  were  a  dangerous  fellow,  and  little  better 
than  an  outlaw/'  —  '•  Upon  my  word  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  and  yet 
you  can  give  no  reason  for  the  belief."  lie  shook  his  head. 
"And  how  do  you  feel  now.  General?"  —  u  How  do  I  feel 
now  !  "  said  he.  rising  up  out  of  his  chair  as  he  spoke,  and 
grasping  both  of  my  hands,  while  tears  stood  in  his  eyes:  "I 
believe,  now,  that  you  have  been  cruelly  misunderstood,  and 
basely  calumniated."  From  that  moment,  we  have  been 
capital  friends,  up  to  this  hour,  with  two  or  three  trifling 
interruptions,  to  be  mentioned  hereafter,  where  I  had  so  much 
at  stake,  that  I  could  not  make  allowances  for  the  advocate, 
which  I  should  refuse  to  the  friend. 

About  this  time,  not  having  irons  enough  in  the  fire.  I  got 
married,  and  amused  mvself,  and  sometimes  others,  by  lectur 
ing  on  all  sorts  of  .-uhjects  :  literature,  eloquence,  the  fine 
arts,  political  economy,  temperance,  poets  and  poetry,  public- 
speaking,  our  pilgrim-lathers,  colonization,  law  and  lawyers, 
the.  studv  <>{'  lanLnianvs.  nat'ind-hlstory,  phrenology,  women's- 
riglits,  M,-li-ediiualiun,  self-reliance,  and  self-distrust,  progress 


354  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  opinion,  &c.,  &c.,  &c., ;  and,  as  others  did  at  the  time,  for  little 
more  than  day-wages.  One  of  these  lecturing*  tours,  by  the  way, 
came  near  winding  up  the  life-drama  I  was  playing,  before  I 
had  reached  the  third  act.  We  were  at  Norwich,  my  wife  and 
I,  on  our  war  to  '*  Cowes  and  a  market,"  and  our  landlord  put 
us  into  a  little  room  newly  painted,  made  a  coal-fire,  and  turned 
the  damper.  In  the  night,  I  woke  with  a  frightful  headache, 
and  tried  to  open  the  window ;  and  that  was  the  last  I 
remembered.  When  I  came  to  my.-elf,  my  poor  wife  was 
deluging  me  with  cold  water,  as  I  lay  helpless  on  the  floor. 
Unwilling  to  raise  the  house,  poor  thing,  she  did  what,  after 
all,  was  the  better  and  wiser  course  —  trusted  wholly  to  her 
self,  notwithstanding  her  own  headache,  and  saved  my  life,  as 
she  once  saved  our  house,  when  a  tire  broke  out,  and  she  was 
alone,  "  all;  all  alone ; "  and  once  since,  where,  though  most 
wives  would  have  been  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  she  let  me 
"slide,"  when  I  had  fainted  irTmy  chair,  without  alarming  the 
neighbors,  &c.,  &c.  Nor  was  I  altogether  satisfied  with  this 
occupation.  I  had  been  worth  money  :  I  wanted  to  be  worth 
money  again;  but  how  should  I  manage  it?  Our  best 
lawyers  lived  only  from  hand  to  month  ;  and  most  of  them, 
after  struggling  awhile,  with  their  chins  just  out  of  water,  got 
starved  out,  or  married  into  some  rich  family,  and  went  into  a 
safer  business.  And  literature  was  even  more  precarious. 
Authors,  whatever  might  be  their  popularity,  were  sure  to  be 
supplanted,  or  go  out  of  fashion,  if  they  gave  the  public  time 
to  breathe  ;  and  lecturing  —  whew  I  —  unless  you  made  a  busi 
ness  of.  it,  and  wrote  your  lectures-  out,  as  I  never  did  —  my 
notes  never  exceeding  half  a  page  —  and  went  over  the  land, 
east,  west,  north,  and  south,  reading  the  same  lecture,  it  was 
hardly  worth  following. 

But  how  came  I  to  lecture  —  and  lecture,  too,  extempore  ?  — 
I,  who,  but  a  few  years  before,  would  not  venture  to  address  a 
sabbath-school,  and  was  not  equal  to  a  supper-speech  before 
the  students  of  Bowdoin  —  I,  who  had  never  delivered  so  much 
as  a  written  Fourth-of-July  oration,  nor  committed  a  page  of 
any  thing  to  memory,  from  my  earliest  boyhood  —  I,  who  had 
never  opened  my  mouth,  indeed,  on  a  platform,  and  but  once 
in  a  pulpit ;  and  before  a  court  or  jury,  never  thought  of  mak 
ing  a  speech,  or  preparing  a  speech,  or  dabbling  in  poetry  or 
rhetoric  ? 


WOMAN  S    RIGHTS. 


355 


Lot  me  explain  this  in  a  measure,  just  here,  giving  the 
details  by  and  by.  X<>t  long  after  I  had  settled  in  Portland, 
31  r.  AYiiiiam  AY.  Thomas,  the  president  of  our  Temperance 
organization,  called  <MI  me  to  deliver  an  address  before  the 
societv.  in  Dr.  Nich< -N's  Church.  I  did  not  tell  him  that  I 
had  never  attempted  Mich  a  tiling,  in  all  m\  life,  that,  having 
no  experience  in  the  management  of  my  voice  in  a  large  build 
ing,  I  could  not  answer  for  myself;  but  accepted  the  invitation 
at  once,  without  ((nailing  or  trembling,  as  if  it  were  something 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  all  my  life,  and  was  never  unpre 
pared  for.  This  was  in  Februarv,  18^'J.  The  church  was 
crowded,  and  the  address  well  received.  31  y  next  written 
address,  or.  perhaps,  it  were  better  to  say  oration,  was  delivered 
before  a  society  of  AYaterville-College,  at  the  solicitation  of 
Mr.  .lames  Brooks,  one  of  my  students,  who  had  been  gradu 
ated  there.  It  was  entitled.  ••  Our  Country."  and  created,  I 
was  told,  quite1  a  sensation.  This  was  in  , Tidy,  18.50.  "Within 
six  months  after,  that  is.  in  January.  IS.'Jl.  I  delivered  another 
written  address  before  the  Mechanics'-Association,  of  Port- 
hind,  followed  by  a  Fourth-of-Julv  oration,  the  same  year,  I 
believe,  in  which  I  broke  ground,  extemporaneously,  without 
preparation  or  notice,  upon  "Woman's  Kiuhts."  In  July, 
•18o8.  1  u'ave  another  Fourth-of-July  oration;  and  in  Septem 
ber,  l.S-18.  I  aave  mv  last  written  address,  under  the  title  of 
'•Man."  before  a  brotherhood  of  "Brown  University.  Of  the 
foregoing,  all  but  mv  unwritten  and  unprepared  Fourth-of- 
July  oration  were  printed  and  published,  and  are  still  to  be 
had,  I  dare  say,  in  the  waste-paper  shops,  if  nowhere  else,  and 
are  all  worth  reading,  nevertheless. 

But  I  have  wandered  a  little,  and  have  not  answered  my 
own  question  about  extemporaneous  speaking.  That  I  will 
try  to  answer  in  a  few  minutes,  but  just  now,  that  I  may  have- 
it  off  my  mind,  let  me  mention  here  what  I  did  in  the  way  of 
money-getting,  after  I  found  that  neither  law.  physic,  nor 
divinity  paid,  like  many  kinds  of  business,  which  required  no 
education,  and  little  or  no  capacity.  I  had  married,  when  so 
poor  that  on  paying  forty  dollars  for  a  table.  which  we  have 
DOW,  and  which  the  cabinet-maker  was  warned  not  to  deliver, 
till  he  i_r<>t  his  pay.  I  felt  very  much  as  if  I  had  committed  the 
unpardonable  .-in,  though  I  was  beginning  to  earn  money,  if  not 


35 G  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

to  lay  up  money,  and  had  my  profession,  my  pen,  my  sparring 
and  fencing  classes,  and  my  editorship  to  reckon  upon.  After 
making  up  my  own  mind,  and  without  allowing  the  woman  I 
wanted,  to  know  or  even  to  suspect  my  purpose,  I  applied  first 
to  her  mother:  saying  I  must  have  her  consent,  to  be^in  with. 
"  Had  I  been  accepted  by  the  daughter  ?  "  she  asked.  •'  Tso."  I 
replied.  "  So  far  from  being  accepted  by  her,  I  have  not  even 
mentioned  the  subject  to  her.  Nor  shall  she  ever  know  of  my 
intention,  till  I  have  your  consent,  and  that  of  your  husband, 
giving  you  time  to  make  what  inquiries  you  please,  either 
about  me.  or  of  me."  —  "  Let  me  tell  you  then,"  said  the  mother, 
"•  she  will  never  marry  you."  —  "  Be  it  so,  madam,"  was  my 
reply  ;  '•  but  if  I  have  your  consent,  I  shall  then  go  to  your  hus 
band  :  and  if  he  has  no  objection,  then  I  shall  do  my  best  to  win 
your  daughter."  She  smiled,  shook  her  head,  but  made  no 
further  objection.  1  then  assailed  the  father,  saying  in  the 
fewest  possible  words,  and  without  any  circumlocution,  or 
nonsense,  '•  I  want  your  daughter  for  my  wife.  I  do  not  ask 
for  any  thing  with  her."  1  did  not  then  know,  by  the  way,  that 
he  was  a  man  of  substance,  but  supposed  him  to  be  in  com 
fortable  circumstances  —  nothing  more  —  living  frugally,  and 
doing,  at  best,  but  a  small  commission-business.  "I  am  able 
to  maintain  her  without  your  help,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  and  all  I  ask 
is  your  consent,  that  I  may  win  her  if  I  can."  He  was  not  a 
little  astonished,  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  not  even  men 
tioned  the  subject  to  his  child,  and  still  more,  I  believe,  when 
I  added  that  I  never  should  mention  it,  unless  I  had  the  con 
sent  of  both  father  and-  mother,  to  begin  with.  It  was  for 
them,  and  not  for  the  daughter,  to  make  the  proper  inquiries : 
I  had  seen  enough,  too  much,  perhaps,  of  stealing  the  child's 
heart,  before  the  parents  were  consulted.  I  had  always  been  in 
love  from  my  earliest  boyhood ;  and  I  knew  what  sacrifices 
women  were  capable  of,  and  something  of  what  women  might 
be  persuaded  to  do,  without  ever  troubling  either  mamma  or 
papa,  after  the  affections  were  once  engaged.  For  ten  or  a 
dozen  years,  I  had  been  waiting  till  I  should  be  rich  enough  to 
marry.  I  could  afford  to  wait  no  longer  :  the  dreariness,  the 
loneliness,  the  desolation,  the  utter  hopelessness  of  a  bachelor's 
life,  I  had  a  horror  of;  and  so.  without  giving  these  or  any 
other  reasons  to  the  father,  I  demanded  a  categorical  answer, 


SETTLED    IX    PORTLAND.  357 

not  in  so  many  words,  to  be  sure,  but  in  choicer  language. 
"'  Go  ahead."  was  the  substance  of  his  replv.  I  took  advan 
tage  of  the  sugux'-tion  :  and  on  the  12th  of  October,  182S,  we 
were  married  and  —  but  this,  dear  reader,  is  between  our 
selves —  have  alwavs  been  among  the  happiest  couples  1  ever 
knew,  or  heard  of,  God  be  thanked  !  I  inav  as  well  mention 
here,  that,  in  1821.  I  was  about  being  married  to  Rosalba, 
eldest  daughter  of  Rembrandt  Peale,  a  verv  superior  woman, 
but  she  found  me  out.  and  sent  me  adrift — for  which  I  am 
afraid  she  has  never  been  sufficiently  thankful  ;  but  the  woman 
1  did  marry  at  last,  has  never  to  mv  knowledge  been  sorrv  for 
Miss  Peale's  decision,  nor  thought  of  applying  for  a  divorce, 
which,  at  the  end  of  forty  years,  is  saying  a  good  deal  for 
both  ;  nor  have  J. 

This  question  settled,  I  began  to  cast  about  for  something 
that  would  be  likelv  to  pay.  and  pav.  too,  without  risk.  I  was 
no  speculator,  no  adventurer:  I  was  willing  to  work,  and 
work  hard  for  a  living;  but  I  wouldn't  gamble,  and  had  long 
before  made  up  mv  mind,  i^ive  what  I  might,  never  to  risk  a 
dollar  which  I  could  not  at  Ford  to  lose,  in  any  wav.  whatever 
might  be  the  temptation.  This  saved  me  from  the  land-tever, 
and  probably  from  two  or  three  brain-fevers,  from  half  a  dozen 
oil,  and  gold,  and  copper  undertakings,  and  not  a  few  delirious 
patent  enterprises.  It  were  easy  enough  to  make  money, 
blockheads  made  money  every  day,  hand  over  hand :  men 
who  could  do  nothing  else,  could  make  money  ;  but  the  dif 
ficulty  was  in  keeping  it.  Example  made  others  crazy.  It 
never  influenced  me.  I  stood  by  myself.  I  had  seen  two  men 
meet,  one  carrying  an  umbrella  open,  the  other  an  umbrella 
shut.  As  they  passed  each  other,  the  first  closed  his  with 
emphasis,  and  the  other  spread  his  in  a  hurry.  So  much  for 
example,  said  I  :  I'll  none  of  it  hereafter. 

Being  about  to  build  for  myself.  I  prepared  the  plan  for  a 
block  of  eight  houses,  offering  to  sell  the  lots.  2(>.'(  by  110  feet, 
on  our  widest  and  most  fashionable  street,  for  three  hundred 
dollars  apiece,  which  would  be  now  worth  five  thousand  at  least, 
to  any  person  who  would  build  with  me.  according  to  that  plan, 
so  as  to  secure  an  outward  uniformity,  leaving  each  to  build 
the  interior  as  he  liked.  While  purchasing  the  materials  for 
cash,  making  my  contracts,  and  preparing  for  the  work,  some 


358  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

of  those  who  had  engaged  to  build  with  me.  failed  in  business, 
during  the  crush  of  18oG  ;  while  others  undertook  to  build  for 
them-elves,  on  Park-Street,  according  to  my  plan,  four  stories, 
including  a  comfortable  basement,  above  ground  ;  but  substi 
tuting  bricks  for  granite,  or  gneiss;  and  wooden  cornices  mid 
gutters  for  copper,  and  shingles,  for  galvanized  iron  or  zinc, 
whereby  they  saved  a  few  hundreds,  and  succeeded  in  pro 
ducing  a  huge,  unsafe,  unsightly  row  of  tall  houses,  which 
passed  then,  and  still  pass  for  a  factory,  with  strangers,  though 
the  long  descending  front  has  lately  been  broken  up,  in  two  or 
three  places,  by  projecting  windows,  and  porticos,  which  have 
materially  improved  the  architectural  appearance  of  the  row. 
This  obliged  me  to  build  two  houses  for  myself,  instead  of  one, 
that  certain  irregularities  in  the  plan,  by  being  doubled,  might 
produce  uniformity. 

I  had  found  what  was  called  granite,  in  use  for  steps  and 
fences  and  store-fronts ;  most  of  it  being  sienite,  however, 
and  the  rest,  gneiss.  Upon  further  investigation,  I  found  to 
my  amazement,  that  some  of  it  had  been  discovered  in  Hal 
lo  well,  and  actually  dressed  in  the  State's  Prison,  at  Thomas- 
town  ;  that  some  was  from  Quincy,  Mass.,  very  dark,  but 
full  of  "knots"  and  pyrites,  like  the  Tremont-House  in 
Boston,  which  was  completely  honeycombed,  within  five  years 
after  it  was  built,  notwithstanding  the  care  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Perkins,  who  owned  the  quarry,  to  furnish  the  best 'possible 
specimens;  that  our  custom-house  was  from  Sandy-Bay, 
Gloucester,  an  ugly  brownish-gray,  but  pure  stone,  like  that 
of  the  Parkman-Housesrin  Bowdoin-Square,  Boston;  and,  what 
was  still  more  extraordinary,  that  we  had  a  large  block  of 
stores,  in  Portland,  built  of  stone  from  Concord,  N.H.,  which 
had  been  split  from  bowlders  !  And  this,  when  we  had 
enough  material  to  build  another  world  with  —  almost  lying 
within  a  few  miles  of  us,  at  North-Yarmouth,  Biddeford, 
Kennebunkport,  and  all  along  that  neighborhood,  as  well  as 
farther  east ;  a  material,  every  way  superior  to  any  of  these 
mentioned,  and  some  of  it  so  unlike  any  to  be  found  elsewhere, 
that  of  the  "  United-States  Quarry,"  for  example,  at  Kenne 
bunkport,  that  a  mineralogist  sent  to  this  country  by  the 
Emperor  of  Russia,  to  look  at  our  buildings  and  building- 
materials,  declared  it  in  his  official  report,  to  be,  all  things 


BUSINESS     r.NTF.IU'KISKS.  359 

considered,  for  color,  puritv.  compactness,  and  strength,  and 
resisting  power,  the  best  building-material  lie  had  ever  met 
with.  anv\\ 'here,  in  anv  country,  tor  public  purposes. 

Long  he  to  re  \ve  had  ohiained  this  testimony.  ho\yeyer,  I  had 
bought  the  North- Yarmouth  Quarrv.  of  which  my  houses  were 
built ;  a  very  fair  material,  though  far  from  being  what  1  sup 
posed,  when  I  secured  the  whole,  under  an  apprehension  that 
the  contractor  might  he  unable  to  finish  his  contract,  if  he 
were  interfered  with  by  speculators  :  another  quarry,  on  the 
Saco  River,  which  we  called  the  ••  llollis  (-iranite  Quarry," 
though  it  v, as  not  in  llollis.  and  not  a  granite,  but  a  sienite, 
of  extraordinary  promise,  and  great  puritv.  on  the  Saco  River, 
but  absolutely  worthless,  when  it  came  to  be  quarried  for  any 
tiling  larger  than  ashler;  and  the  "United-States  Quarry," 
which  proved  to  be  the  very  best  building-material  to  be  found; 
near  enough  to  be  brought  chiefly  by  water,  and  abundant  as 
we  could  wish.  Other  samples  were  brought  me  from  every 
part  of  the  country,  but  nothing  to  be  compared  with  these. 
The  problem  I  had  been  laboring  with,  was  no\y  to  be  solved. 
There  was  -  money  "  in  these  quarries,  to  borrow  a  phrase,  lately 
come  into  use  ;  and  money  enough  to  satisfy  any  reasonable 
man.  The  quarries  bein^  secured,  associations  were  formed, 
charters  obtained,  operations  b'jgun.  and  the  stone  from  the 
United-States  Quarry  was  introduced,  not  only  into  Portland  — 
where  ihe  lame,  handsome  Exchange,  and  Post-Office  were 
built  of  it.  and  stone-fronts  came  into  general  use —  but  into 
New-York  :  the  result  of  which  was.  first,  that  we  have  made 
ourselves  altogether  independent  of  supplies  from  abroad,  and 
never  think  of  goini;  beyond  Biddeford,  Kennebunkport 
North-Yarmouth.  Hallowell,  and  Augusta,  for  any  thing  we 
need  in  the  shape  of  granite  or  irneiss  ;  and,  secondly,  that  I 
made  what  was  called  ••  a  good  thing"  of  it.  for  myself. 

And  now,  having  secured  a  comfortable  nest-egg  —  the 
foundation  of  a  reasonable  prosperity,  which  has  been  con 
tinued  from  that  day  to  this  —  I  began  to  think  seriously  of 
what  1  owcul  to  others,  though  tar  iroin  being  a  devout,  or 
even  a  religions  man.  3Iy  wife's  mother  had  proposed  one 
stipulation,  however,  and  but  one.  at  the  very  beginning  of 
mv  courtship.  She  was  afraid,  as  I  had  no  particular  denomi 
national  tendeaicv,  and  acknowledged  mvself  botli  a  Univer- 


36<J' 


AVAXDERIXG    RECOLLECTIONS. 


salist  and  a  Unitarian,  that  I  might  lead  her  (laughter  astray, 
in  religious  belief,  and  therefore  made  me  promise  to  go  lo  her 
meeting;  she  herself  being  a  member  of  Dr.  Payson's  Church. 
I  had  no  objection:  "my  wife  might  go  where  ^he-  pleased, 
and  I  would  go  with  her.''  This  1  continued  to  do  under  the 
ministry  of  Dr.  Tvler.  and  Mr.  Vail,  for  eight  or  ten  years  ; 
then,  after  we  had  got  into  our  new  house,  under  that  of  Mr. 
Beck  with,  in  High-Street,  followed  by  that  of  Dr.  Chickering, 
under  whom,  in  the  year  1851.  my  wife,  my  twin-sister,  and 
myself  joined  the  Orthodox-Church  ;  my  sister  forsaking  her 
undeniable,  though  long-neglected  Quakerism,  and  dying  in 
the  faith;  my  wife  and  I,  our  indifference  to  sectarianism 
—  I  might  say,  our  dislike  of  it  — and  becoming,  I  hope  and 
believe,  both  sincere  and  hearty  in  our  acceptance  of  the 
trinitarian  doctrines. 

But  1  have  wandered  far  away  from  one,  at  least,  of  the 
many  paths,  constantly  diverging,  that  lay  before  me,  at  the 
opening  of  this  chapter. 

Let  me  gather  up  some  of  the  loose  threads,  that  lie  now 
within  reach,  while  I  may,  lest  the  warp  and  woof  may  not 
hang  together,  and  some  of  the  flowers  and  figures  may  be 
lost  sight  of,  or  be  misunderstood.  That  very  "  tall  oaks  from 
little  acorns  grow,"  will  be  seen  by  what  follows. 

While  getting  ready,  in  a  quiet  way,  for  house-keeping,  it 
occurred  to  me,  all  at  once,  in  making  my  drawings,  and  pre 
parations  for  the  furniture,  every  piece  of  which  was  designed 
by  myself,  that  all  this  lacquered  trumpery  we  were  accustomed 
to  on  our  mahogany  furniture,  was  pitiful  and  preposterous ; 
the  handles  of  our  bureaus,  the  claw-feet  of  our  tables  and 
sofas,  and  even  our  best  door-knobs,  being  of  brass,  washed 
with  a  glittering  varnish.  But  how  was  this  to  be  remedied? 
What  should  we  substitute  for  lions'  claws  ?  and  what  for 
knobs  and  handles  ?  I  began  with  a  sort  of  scroll,  in  which 
the  caster  was  imbedded,  or  sunk,  for  the  sofas  and  tables. 
The  first  cabinet-maker  I  employed,  and  he  was  the  best,  when 
I  gave  him  a  drawing  for  an  ebony  knob,  and  another  for  the 
foot  of  a  table,  remonstrated  with  me  more  than  once,  and 
almost  refused  to  do  what  I  required,  upon  the  ground  that 
the  sofas  and  tables  would  be  club-footed,  and  the  beautiful 
workmanship  itself  would  suffer,  saying  that  his  brethren  of  the 


EXTEMPOIli:    DOINGS.  3G1 

craft  were  all  of  the  same  opinion,  and  that  if  1  would  not  have 
lacquered  feet,  handles,  and  knobs,  they  begged  me  to  use,  at 
least,  the  glass  and  plated  knobs  that  were  just  coming  into 
use  from  Philadelphia,  and  then  perhaps  the  beaurv  of  the 
cabinet-work  would  not  be  utterly  lost  in  the  furniture,  or 
'•killed."  They  knew  I  should  never  like  it.  after  it  was  done, 
they  said.  But  I  persisted  —  of  course.  And  what  wore  the 
consequences?  Within  three  years,  ebony-handles  were  in 
general  use.  throughout  the  country:  club-feet,  for  tables  and 
sofas,  were  all  the  "  rage  ;  "  and  my  patterns  were  found  everv- 
where.  even  at  Cincinnati  and  Chicago  :  I  saw  them  there 
myself.  The  importations  of  lacquered  ware  ended  forever;  and, 
by  the  time  I  was  ready  to  build,  ebony-handles,  of  the  very 
pattern  first  used  in  Portland,  were  to  be  met  with  in  all  our 
furnishing  and  hardware  stores,  imported  from  England.  Up 
to  this  time,  the  yearly  importations  of  lacquered  ware,  knobs, 
handles,  and  feet,  had  averaged  over  six  hundred  thousand 
dollars  a  year:  millions,  therefore,  had  been  saved  to  the 
countrv  by  these  two  or  three  little  changes  I  have  mentioned. 
Who  will  deny,  therefore,  that  ••  tall  oaks  "  —  very  tall  oaks  — 
'•from  little  acorns  grow,"  plant  them  where  you  may? 

But  how  came  I  to  be  a  ready  and  fluent  extemporaneous 
debater  and  lecturer?  That  question,  I  have  not  yet 
answered.  It  happened  in  this  way.  I  knew,  like  Sheridan, 
that  I  had  it  in  me  ;  but  I  was  in  no  hurry  to  have  it  out, 
as  I  had,  authorship,  poetry,  &c..  &c.  Having  been  assured 
by  some  of  my  best  friends  at  Baltimore,  that,  whatever  else 
I  might  be,  1  should  never  be  a  speaker,  I  determined  to 
bide  my  time  ;  and,  when  the  proper  occasion  should  arrive,  to 
laneh  out  —  sink  or  swim  —  hit  or  miss  —  live  or  die.  I  did 
not  believe  in  written  speeches  :  I  had  no  faith  in  volumi 
nous,  or  even  liberal  notes.  One  is  always  beginning,  every 
time  he  looks  off,  and  tries  to  extemporize.  '•  If  we  cannot  sup 
ply  these  gaps,"  said  Mr.  Pierpont  and  Dr.  Nichols  to  me, 
u  how  can  we  ever  do  more?"  —  '•  It  would  not  be  doing  more" 
I  said, >k  but  less.  Beginning  a  speech  is  like  beginning  a  let 
ter.  "There  all  the  danger  lies  ; "  and  by  the  time  you  get 
fairly  a-going,  and  are  warm  with  your  subject,  you  have  to 
pull  up,  and  look  at  your  notes,  and  begin  anew  with  your 
patchwork.  At  any  rate,  as  I  preach,  I  shall  practise."  And 


362  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

I  did  ;  succeeding,  not  of  course  to  my  own  satisfaction,  or 
there  I  should  have  stopped,  and  for  ever,  but  to  the  satisfac 
tion  of  others,  better  judges  than  myself,  I  dare  say  !  And  not 
long  after  this,  when  I  had  begun  to  find  it  easier  to  talk  to 
thousands  than  to  scores,  as  in  the  Tabernacle,  or  Tammany- 
Hall,  or  out  in  the  open  air,  my  friend  Pierpout  one  day, 
having  left  behind  a  manuscript  sermon,  which  he  was  to 
deliver  at  Lynn,  was  obliged  to  extemporize;  and  being  pro 
digiously  complimented  on  the  best  thing  he  ever  did  in  the 
pulpit,  underwent  a  transfiguration,  so  that  he  became  a  ready 
and  eloquent  speaker,  without  notes,  upon  a  variety  of  subjects, 
before  he  was  called  home  ;  and  so  with  that  excellent  and 
godly  man,  Dr.  Nichols,  before  his  death  ;  and  as  for  myself, 
1  claim  to  be  so  ready  with  spontaneous  utterance,  that,  for 
many  years,  I  have  not  dared  to  trust  myself  with  a  speech 
unless  taken  wholly  by  surprise  ;  and  then.  I  never  amplify 
but  endeavor  to  be  brief  and  clear,  without  rhetoric,  or  poetry 
quotation,  exaggeration,  or  embellishment,  having  outgrown,  1 
hope,  all  the  boyish  ambition  for  display,  so  common  to  mos' 
men,  after  they  have  once  overcome  a  constitutional  embar 
rassment.  Mere  applause,  mere  popularity,  had  never  mucl 
power  with  me.  I  have  ahvays  thought  so  well  of  myself, 
that  public  opinion  has  never  influenced  me,  against  my  own 
convictions. 

That  I  have  always  been  able  to  withstand  certain  kinds  of 
temptation,  I  acknowledge,  while  to  others  I  have  yielded, 
like  a  simpleton,  without  excuse.  For  example :  I  never 
could  be  tempted  to  join  the  other  party  in  politics,  or  religion  ; 
and,  while  writing  for  u  Blackwood."  I  refused  to  write  a 
review  of  "  Margaret  Lyndsay,"  by  Professor  Wilson,  though 
delighted  with  the  book  ;  simply,  because  Professor  Wilson 
was  Christopher  North,  upon  whose  favor,  as  editor  of  "  Black- 
wood,"  I  might  be  supposed  a  little  dependent ;  but  then  a 
word  or  a  look  would  bring  me  into  the  field ;  and  I  have 
always  been  fighting  other  people's  battles  ever  since  I  can 
remember. 


TEMPERANCE.  363 


CHAPTER    XX. 

TEMPERANCE. 

THE     MATKE     LAW:     >'EAL     DOW:      PUNCH  :      RUM-CIIKUHTES :     USED     KOK     A 

DECOY:  MALA<;A:  VIDONIA:  IJOSIMN  TP.IALS:  KALTI.MOKE:  ABROAD; 
WINE-CELLAR:  TEMPERANCE;  CONTHOVERSY :  IHMJLIC  MEETINGS:  DE 
BATES;  MAINE-LAW;  NEAL  DOW.  THE  CITY  ENGINEER  :  THE  TRUE 
STORY;  (JROG-SIIOI'.S  AND  ROW-DE-DoWS ;  EVASIONS  OF  THE  LAW; 
STATE  CON  V EN TION. 

""WATKU.  wati'r.  everywhere,  and  not  a  drop  to  drink!  "  instead 
of  Dlriffo.  mi<_rht  well  be  our  State-legend. 

The  Maine  law  having  done  about  all  the  mischief  it  can 
hope  to  do.  and  my  opposition  to  it.  from  the  first,  though  al 
ways  a  friend  of  temperance,  having  been  shamefully  misrep 
resented  by  the  bigots  and  fanatics  of  the  dav.  I  propose  to 
give  a  comprehensive,  though  brief  sketch  of  its  origin, 
growth,  and  historv,  and  also  of  its  reputed  author.  Mr.  Neal 
Dow. 

Being  of  Quaker  parentage,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that 
I  had  no  predisposition  for  strong  drink.  Up  to  the  a^e  of 
ten,  I  knew  the  taste  of  only  one  kind  of  liquor  :  and  that 
was  gin.  Twice  or  three  times,  perhaps,  when  it  had  been 
used  for  medicine,  by  my  mother,  I  had  been  allowed  to  taste 
the  sugar,  which  had  been  left  in  the  tumbler ;  but  1  had  no 
liking  for  the  gin  flavor.  It  was  the  sugar  I  wanted. 

Once,  at  a  supper,  given  by  '•  Uncle  Simeon,"  after  what  we 
call  a  '•  Raisiny"  thev  had  hot  punch.  This,  too,  I  tasted  of, 
and  took  such  a  fancy  to.  that  I  sipped,  and  sipped,  as  the 
glasses  were  carried  by  me  through  the  entry,  till  I  began  to 
be  lijjht-headed.  Going  out  into  the  open  air,  I  behaved  so 
foolishly,  for  a  few  minutes,  that  my  condition  was  guessedat, 
by  a  neighbor.  This  happened  when  I  was  about  eleven,  I 
should  say:  but  still,  though  I  had  a  relish  for  hot  punch, 
I  had  none  for  the  consequences.  A  sort  of  loathing  followed  ; 


364  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

and  from  that  day  to  this,  I  have  not  drunk  to  the  amount  of 
a  single  tumbler. 

And  one  day,  but  whether  before,  or  after  this,  I  cannot 
be  sure,  though  I  think  it  must  have  been  loug  before,  I  hap 
pened  to  be  fishing  for  smelts  and  tommy-cods,  at  a,  wharf,  on 
which  a  quantity  of  old  ruin-cherries  were  emptied.  All  the 
boys  rushed  to  the  spot,  when  they  saw  the  cask  tipped  over, 
and  most  of  us  gobbled  up  a  few  handl'uls  in  a  furious  hurry. 
I  was  made  sick  by  them  ;  but  so  little  did  I  know  of  sick 
ness,  in  any  shape,  that  I  supposed  it  owing  to  the  sight  of  a 
large  conger-eel  —  the  first  and  last  I  ever  saw  —  which  lay 
swelling  and  writhing  and  twisting  on  the  wharf,  with  all  its 
loathsome  breathing-holes  exposed.  The  sickness  did  not 
last  long,  I  believe,  not  more  than  half  an  hour,  at  most :  but 
it  gave  me  a  dislike  for  rum-cherries  and  conger-eels,  which  I 
have  not  been  able  to  overcome  to  this  day. 

My  next  trial  occurred  when  I  had  passed  the  age  of 
twelve,  and  was  a  shop-boy,  with  Munroe  and  Tutlle,  corner 
of  Middle  and  Union  Streets.  We  baited  our  traps  with 
brandy,  old  Jamaica,  anise-seed,  and  cordials.  To  persuade 
our  customers,  I  was  employed  as  a  decoy,  and  after  inviting 
them  to  "'take  hold/'  and  ''help  themselves,"  I  used  to  make- 
believe  drink ;  but  my  drinking  amounted  only  to  this :  I 
would  dip  a  lump  of  loaf-sugar  into  the  brandy  and  water,  and 
suck  it.  After  a  while,  however,  I  found  that  I  used  less 
sugar,  and  more  brandy,  occasionally  sipping  a  spoonful ;  so 
that  my  face  grew  red  —  red  enough  to  send  me  to  the  glass, 
after  overhearing  a  remark  about  my  fresh  color.  From  that 
moment,  I  determined  to  drink  no  more ;  not  another  drop  of 
any  thing  that  could  intoxicate.  And  I  kept  my  resolution, 
faithfully  and  scrupulously,  until  I  had  passed  the  age  of 
twenty,  with  two  exceptions,  though  taunted  with  my  want 
of  spirit  and  manliness,  by  all  my  companions ;  for  I  went  so 
far  as  to  refuse  to  play  for  liquor  at  the  nhie-pin-alleys.  For 
this,  I  was  only  laughed  at  as  a  milksop.  Nobody  praised 
me,  nobody  encouraged  me.  I  stood  alone  —  altogether  alone, 
among  all  my  associates. 

The  first  exception  was  this.  I  was  fond  of  sweet  cider, 
and  had  a  singular  liking  for  sweet  wine,  which  I  had  happened 
to  taste  of,  one  day,  after  doing  an  errand  for  a  sea-captain's 


TEMPERANCE.  365 

wife,  who  had  Driven  me  noyeau  before.  Not  understanding 
the  nature  of  this  wine  —  Malaga —  and  not  apprehending 
any  danger.  I  used  to  buy  a  pint  on  Saturday  evening,  and 
worry  it  all  down  before  the  next  Monday  morning,  by  myself. 
But  I  soon  wearied  of  this  :  the  beverage  itself  became  dis 
agreeable  ;  and,  preferring  companionship  without  liquor,  to 
solitude  with.  I  threw  that  aside,  and  have  never  touched  it 
since. 

The  second  exception  occurred  while  I  was  in  the  store  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Willis.  lie  always  had  liquors  and  wines  for 
sale.  and.  among  them,  what  he  called  Yidonia.  To  this,  I 
took  a  decided  fancy.  It  was  weak  and  pleasant,  and,  with  a 
few  lumps  of  loaf-sugar  which  I  dipped  into  it,  by  no  means  un 
palatable.  But  something  —  I  cannot  now  remember  what  — 
awoke  me  to  a  Sf-nse  of  my  danger  ;  and  I  broke  off,  at  once, 
and  for  ever,  with  Yidonia,  also. 

From  this  moment,  I  became  satisfied  that  I  never  should 
be  safe,  unless  I  made  tip  my  mind  to  touch  not.  taste  not, 
handle  not.  And  so  I  resolved  anew  ;  and  that  resolution  I 
held  to.  for  many  years,  and  sometimes  under  very  trying  cir 
cumstances.  For  example :  Being  at  Mr.  Pierpont's  table 
one  day.  in  1814.  I  was  urged  by  his  brother-in-law.  Mr.  Jo 
seph  L.  Lord,  to  take  wine  with  a  beautiful  creature,  who  was 
just  recovering  from  a  terrible  attack  of  insanity.  lie  well 
knew  that  I  never  drank  a  drop  of  any  liquor  ;  that  I  had 
forsworn  every  thing  of  the  sort;  and  yet,  having  filled  my 
glass,  without  my  knowledge  or  consent,  he  persisted.  I  shook 
my  iiead  :  he  pushed  the  glass  toward  me,  and  was  just  about 
calling  the  attention  of  the  young  lady  herself  to  our  coutro- 
versy,  when  I  lost  my  patience,  and  broke,  out  with,  "I'll  be 
d — d  if  I  do  !  "  greatly  to  the  amusement,  if  not  to  the 
amazement,  of  Mr.  Pierpont,  and  Mrs.  Pierpont,  and  all  their 


After  this,  I  went  to  Baltimore,  and  never  faltered  in  my 
resolution  but  once,  while  there.  At  a  thanksgiving-supper, 
I  drank  of  some  preparation,  I  know  not  what,  which  came 
near  tripping  my  heels:  for  the  platform  rose  up  steadily  be 
fore  me.  as  I  well  remember,  the  first  and  last  time  I  ever 
had  that  uncomfortable  sensation.  But  I  was  not  so  far  gone, 
as  to  lose  either  my  self-possession  or  bodily  strength  ;  for  I 


366  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

took  a  stout,  heavy  Englishman,  who  had  become  helpless  in 
the  open  air,  under  one  arm,  and  carried  him  up  two  flights 
of  stairs,  holding  on  by  the  balusters  with  my  left  hand,  as  I 
forged  ahead,  with  my  cargo  resting  on  my  right  hip. 

After  this,  I  went  abroad  —  was  gone  over  three  years  — 
returned,  married,  became  a  father,  .and  having  built  a  house 
with  a  wine-cellar,  and  "  laid  in  "  a  reasonable  quantity  of  the 
best  wines  to  be  had,  about  five  hundred  bottles,  I  should  say 
now,  though  there  may  have  been  more  —  six  or  seven  hun 
dred,  perhaps  —  consisting  of  Madeira,  Sherry,  both  pale  and 
brown,  Port,  and  Muscat.  Although  I  did  not  drink,  and  had 
not  drunk  for  twenty  years,  a  bottle  of  wine  a  year,  and  was 
unacquainted  with  the  taste  of  other  liquors,  yet  I  remem 
bered  the  flavor  of  gin,  and  the  smell  of  Sauta-Cruz  and 
Jamaica.  The  wine,  being  bottled  off.  was  hoarded,  not  for 
myself  or  my  family;  though,  at  one  time,  Old-Port  being 
prescribed  for  my  wife,  I  dosed  her  with  decoctions  of  log 
wood  and  sloe-juice,  from  the  London-docks,  under  that  name, 
with  a  single  glass,  once  a  day,  till  she  turned  up  her  nose 
over  it,  and  positively  declined  the  rough,  generous  beverage. 
When  there  were  strangers  dining  with  us,  we  had  on  our 
table,  at  least,  three  kinds  of  wine,  or  what  was  called  wine: 
Old-Port  for  my  wife,  Sherry  or  Madeira  for  strangers,  and 
Muscat  for  the  children.  Of  this  Muscat,  1  used  to  pour  a 
spoonful  into  a  liqueur-glass,  fill  it  up  with  water,  and  allow 
them  to  smack  their  lips  over  it  :  having  a  notion  that  wine 
was  the  gift  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  a  type  of  spiritual 
blessing,  like  oil  and  corn  ;  that  the  "  strong  drink  "  of  Scripture 
was  not  wine  ;  that  our  Saviour  understood  his  business,  and 
must  have  foreseen  the  consequences,  when  he  manufactured 
wine  out  of  water,  and  probably  drank  of  it  himself,  and 
when  he  commanded  the  disciples  to  drink  of  it  evermore, 
in  commemoration  of  his  death  —  and  probably  set  the  exam 
ple*  for  how  could  he  refuse  ?  —  and  that  Paul  understood 
the  question,  when  he  prescribed  a  little  wine  to  Timothy,  for 
his  *•  stomach's  sake,  and  his  many  infirmities;"  that  such 
wines  could  not  have  been  sweetened  water,  nor  unfermented 
grape-juice.  No,  no :  the  Bible  argument,  as  it  is  called,  can 
not  be  fairly  misunderstood.  If  wine  be  a,  poison*  and  always 
a  poison,  let  us  change  the  phraseology  in  the  following,  and 


TEMPERANCE.  367 

other  passages,  and  see  how  it  will  sound.  ';  Come,  buy  poi 
son  and  milk,  without  money  and  without  price." —  ''Take  a 
\\n\upuison  for  thy  stomach's  sake."  —  "Poison  that  makoth 
the  heart  glad,"  &.C..  kc.  Yet  more  :  I  believed,  that  if  wine 
were,  as  plentiful  in  the  north,  as  it  was  in  the  south  of  Eu 
rope,  it  would  do  more  for  the  cause  of  temperance,  there, 
and,  after  a  time,  here,  than  all  our  preaching,  all  our  legisla 
tion,  and  all  our  exasperating  sumptuary  laws,  and  all  our 
misrepresentation  and  exaggeration.  I  did  not  then  foresee 
what  must  happen  before  long:  that  California  would  become 
a  vineyard  for  the  world;  and  that  the  wines  of  Ohio,  like 
those  of  California,  would  soon  disenchant  our  wine-bibbers 
of  their  prejudice  in  favor  of  imported  wines,  and  thereby 
promote  the  cause  of  temperance  everywhere,  by  making 
pure  wines  plentiful  and  cheap.  Nor  did  I  foresee  that  all 
wines  and  liquors  would  be  counterfeited,  adulterated,  drugged, 
and  poisoned"  —  our  California  and  Ohio  wines  along  with  the 
rest — until  wine-drinkers,  like  brandy-drinkers  and  whiskey- 
drinkers,  would  be  in  constant  danger  of  their  lives.  What 
I  wanted  was  a  pure  wine,  and  that.  I  then  believed,  and  still 
believe,  would  promote  the  cause  of  temperance  more  effect- 
uallv  than  either  legislation,  or  blackguarding,  falsehood,  or 
vituperation,  lint  where  shall  we  go  tor  pure  wine?  Not 
on  earth.  I  am  afraid,  nor  anywhere,  till  we  drink  it  new  with 
our  Saviour,  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  I  acknowledged  the 
evils  of  intemperance ;  I  saw  them  all  about  me.  They 
could  not  well  be  exaggerated ;  the  only  question  was  about 
the  remedy. 

But  one  day,  while  entertaining  these  views,  having  a 
stranger  or  two  from  abroad  at  our  table,  after  one  of  them 
had  filled  his  glass,  and  I  had  touched  mine  to  my  lips  —  noth 
ing  more  —  our  eldest  child,  Mary,  reached  toward  me  the 
liqueur-glass,  which  was  by  the  side  of  her  plate,  and  whis 
pered,  "  I  want  some,  father  ; "  and  I  was  just  on  the  point 
of  pouring  out  her  allowance  of  Muscat,  not  exceeding  a 
table-spoonful,  at  most,  so  that,  after  dilution,  it  was  nothing 
more  than  a  sweetened  water,  when  my  wife  gave  me  a  sig 
nal,  and  pointed  to  the  vinegar-cruet:  1  took  the  hint  — 
regarding  the  suggestion  as  a  bit  of  pleasantry  —  and  poured 
out  for  the  child  a  glassful  of  the  sharpest  wine-vinegar; 


368  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

•whereupon,  the  boy  held  out  his  glass,  and  I  filled  it  in  the 
same  way.  To  my  utter  amazement,  the  little  wretches 
emptied  their  glasses,  and  were  asking  for  "  More,  father, 
more."  while  I  was  helping  our  guest.  This  frightened  me, 
and  set  me  thinking.  If  example  had  such  power  with  little 
children,  of  three  and  four,  I  believe,  or  at  most  four  and  five, 
years  of  age  respectively,  what  might  not  be  hoped,  or 
feared,  from  example  with  adults  ?  And  why  not  insist  on 
example,  making  it  more  disgraceful  for  a  man  of  education 
and  refinement,  of  position  and  talent,  than  for  an  Irish  la 
borer,  a  poor,  lowly,  uneducated  man,  to  get  drunk,  or  to  be 
found  tippling? 

My  duty  was  now  clear.  I  determined  to  have  no  more 
wine  at  my  table,  either  at  dinners  or  parties  ;  and  I  never 
have,  to  this  day:  to  give  no  wine  to  our  guests,  until  the 
experiment  had  been  fairly  tried  of  regulating  our  households 
by  law  ;  a  remedy  for  intemperance,  which  I  had  no  belief 
in.  And  to  that  resolution  I  have  also  adhered,  from  that  day 
to  this  ;  though  I  stood  almost  alone  for  twenty  years,  among 
all  but  the  ramping,  vociferous,  unrelenting  tee-total-ers. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  stir  began  ;  the  terrible 
commotion,  I  might  say.  among  those  who,  instead  of  regard 
ing  the  injunction, "'  J5e  temperate  in  all  things"  were  furiously 
intemperate  on  the  subject  of  temperance  ;  making  total  ab 
stinence  the  condition  of  citizenship,  and  almost  of  salvation. 

A  public  meeting  was  called,  and  I  was  earnestly  and  spe 
cially  invited,  by  the  late  Deacon  Woodbury  Storer,  one  of 
our  best  men,  to  be  present.  It  was  held  in  Dr.  Payson's 
church,  the  largest  in  town,  which  was  crowded  to  the  ceil 
ing,  house,  and  aisles,  and  galleries  ;  and  Mr.  Storer  was  called 
to  the  chair.  Matters  went  on  smoothly  enough,  so  long  as 
mere  declamation,  wild  extravagant  assertion,  without  proof, 
and  the  commonest  common-place  had  full  swing ;  but,  by  and 
bv,  when  a  resolution  was  offered,  and  what  was  called  the 
"  Wine -question  "  was  sprung  upon  us,  denouncing  wine 
altogether,  even  for  the  sick,  and  banishing  it  from  the  com 
munion-table,  I  objected  ;  giving  two  or  three  reasons,  and 
pointing  out  what  I  believed  to  be  very  serious  mistakes,  in 
the  arguments  and  statistics  we  had  been  favored  with. 

Whereupon  the  chair  —  this  very  Deacon  Storer,  the  amia- 


TEMPERANCE.  369 

ble  and  just  man.  who  had  invited  me  specially  to  take  a  part 
in  the  discussion  —  had  the  kindness  to  tell  me  that  1  was  in 
vited  tor  no  such  purpose,  and  that  all  thev  required  of  me 
was  my  assent. 

Feeling  not  only  aggrieved,  but  grossly  affronted  at  this.  I 
moved  an  adjournment  ;  promising  to  take  not  more  than  one 
hour  to  show  their  mistakes  in  physiology,  in  chemistry,  in 
theology,  and  in  vital  statistics.  The  motion  prevailed;  and, 
of  course.  I  had  the  floor. 

Notwithstanding  the  difficulty  I  find  in  remembering  words, 
I  have  a  wonderful  memory  for  connected  reasoning,  and 
facts,  and  argument.  I  have  sat  through  a  debate,  day  after 
day.  and  evening  after  evening,  for  a  whole  week,  without 
taking  a  note  ;  and  then,  in  a  single  hour,  I  have  answered  all 
the  arguments,  and  so  far  silenced  all  my  adversaries,  that 
they  had  nothing  more  to  sav  ;  and  obtained,  first,  a  trium 
phant  decision  by  vote,  and  then  the  immediate  organization 
of  a  society  in  favor  of  the  views  I  had  been  urging.  This  I 
did  in  a  debate  with  General  Fessenden.  the  father,  and  his 
coadjutors,  when  they  assailed  the  Colonization-Society  ;  first, 
in  a  Fourth-of-Julv  oration,  delivered  by  him;  and  then,  in  a 
debate  which  lasted  a  whole  week,  if  I  remember  aright. 

Of  course,  therefore,  I  was  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  what 
had  been  urued  by  the  different  speakers  upon  the  wine-ques 
tion.  But  after  I  had  thrown  down  the  glove,  the  late  Judge 
Preble.  our  ex-minister  to  the  Hague,  who  had  been  present, 
called  upon  me  and  begged  me  to  abandon  the  idea.  "•  You 
have  already  shown  the  weakness  and  folly  of  these  cham 
pions  ;  and  why  not  allow  them  to  have  their  own  way,  and 
make  still  greater  fools  of  themselves,  if  they  insist  upon 
the  privilege?"  "Not  the  least  objection  in  the  world,"  said 
I ;  "save  that,  having  promised,  or  threatened,  it  would  never 
do  for  me  to  back  out,  or  withdraw." 

The  appointed  evening  arrived.  "We  met  —  'twas  in  a 
crowd."  I  took  out  my  watch,  laid  it  on  the  table  before  me, 
and  after  quoting  a  passage  from  Dr.  Hush,  and  others  from 
the  Bible,  I  gave  the  testimony  of  chemists  and  physiologists, 
.and  of  Anderson,  in  his  "  History  of  Commerce."  where,  if  I 
remember  aright,  over  twelve  thousand  prosecutions  had  to  be 
abandoned  in  England,  after  the  guinea-a-<ral Ion-tax  was 

21 


370  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

laid  on  liquors;  because  —  mark  you  —  because  it  drove  all 
the  honest  dealers  out  of  the  business,  and  operated  as  a 
bounty  on  the  manufacture  of  drugged  and  poisonous  prepa 
rations ;  replied  to  every  argument  that  had  been  urged,  cor 
recting  every  misrepresentation  as  I  went  along,  and  finished 
within  the  hour,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  Judge  Preble 
himself,  and- others  of  large  calibre. 

The  meeting  then  proceeded  to  assign  portions  of  the  reply 
to  different  gentlemen.  Dr.  Viuton.  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
now  of  New-York,  was  to  take  up  the  Bible  argument;  some 
body  else,  I  forget  whom,  the  chemical,  not  medical ;  and 
another  eminent  somebody,  the  physiological.  I  did  not  at 
tend  that  meeting ;  I  had  accomplished  my  purpose ;  I  had 
shown  that  there  were  undeniably  two  sides  to  the  question  ; 
and  what  more  could  I  desire  ?  But  I  understood  from  others 
that  the  speakers  were  both  courteous  and  complimentary  to 
me,  doing  full  justice  to  my  motives,  and  acknowledging  the 
strength  of  my  leading  positions,  and  the  undeniable  sound 
ness  of  the  arguments  urged. 

Meanwhile,  that  I  might  be  no  hindrance  to  the  work, 
though  much  of  it  I  believed  to  be  both  dangerous  and  mis 
chievous,  and  quite  sure  to  exasperate,  instead  of  soothing,  I 
gave  away  all  the  wine  in  my  cellar  —  portions  of  it  to  Mr. 
Neal  Dow  himself,  who  wanted  it  for  the  sick,  he  said ;  let 
Cape-Cottage,  a  sort  of  marine-villa,  with  extensive  grounds, 
which  I  owned,  upon  the  shores  of  Cape-Elizabeth,  for  a  price 
which  brought  me  in  debt  every  year  to  the  landlord,  because 
I  would  not  allow  him  to  sell  any  kind  of  liquor,  when  I  was 
offered  six  hundred  a  year,  if  I  would  take  off  the  restriction ; 
and  finally  bought  a  store  of  my  sister,  and  suffered  it  to  lie 
idle  for  a  twelvemonth  or  so,  because  a  confectioner,  to  whom 
I  had  leased  it  for  her,  would  sell  liquor  in  spite  of  the  re 
strictions,  and  she  could  not  afford  to  lose  the  rent ;  and  all 
this,  against  my  own  convictions,  to  help  the  cause  of  tem 
perance,  while  they  who  disagreed  with  me  were  experiment 
ing  in  a  way  that  cost  them  little  or  nothing,  and  which  I 
believed  to  be  both  hurtful  and  mischievous. 

Yet  more.  I  refused  to  defend  parties  prosecuted,  after  the 
Maine-Law  was  carried  through,  by  mountebanks  and  politi 
cians  (tautology),  instead  of  Christian  reformers,  patriots,  and 


MR.    XEAL    DOTT.  371 

philanthropists;  on  one  occasion  saving,  when  they  wished 
me  to  sign  a  petition  to  the  Legislature,  demanding  higher 
penalties  and  aggravations,  that  such  a  law  could  never  be 
enforced,  nor  would  it  ever  he  passed,  unless  our  lawgivers 
were  either  drunk  or  crazv  :  and  that  it  would  repeal  itself, 
as  it  did  within  a  few  months.  And  from  this  rule  I  never 
departed  but  once  ;  and  that  was  when  Margaret  Landrigan,  a 
poor,  but  generous,  kind-hearted  Irish  woman,  was  charged 
by  a  drunken  vagabond  with  selling  liquor,  because  she 
would  not  open  her  doors  to  him.  but  sent  for  the  police,  and 
had  him  carried  off  to  the  station-house,  where,  under  the 
same  execrable  law,  she  was  required  to  give  two  bonds, 
amounting  to  three  hundred  dollars,  with  four  flifll-rent  sure 
ties,  before  an  appeal  would  be  allowed  ;  there!) \  preventing 
an  appeal,  in  forty-nine  cases  out  of  fifty,  no  matter  how  great 
the  hardship,  nor  how  evident  the  malice  or  falsehood  of  the 
witness ;  a  fellow,  bv  the  way,  I  had  warned  Mr.  Dow 
against,  who  was  tried,  for  perjury.,  and,  1  believe,  convicted 
in  some  of  these  cases. 

Feeling  both  indignant  and  sore,  at  such  proceedings,  I 
undertook  her  defence,  and  got  a  brother-in-law,  a  most 
respectable  physician,  and  two  other  personal  friends,  and 
relations,  to  sign  the  bond  with  me,  promising  to  hold  them  all 
harmless  ;  the  result  of  which  was  her  ultimate  acquittal. 

But  my  friend  and  cousin,  the  ''Honorable  Xeal  Dow,"  our 
"  Chief  Engineer"  what  did  he  for  the  cause,  while  I  was 
laboring  in  the  way  I  have  mentioned,  and  making  the 
sacrifices  I  have  now  acknowledged?  Nothing,  whatever  — 
absolutely  nothing,  beyond  what  I  am  about  to  specify. 
AVhile  he  was  paid  with  cash  and  silver-pitchers  — at  his  own 
suggestion,  it  was  believed  —  for  lecturing  gratuitously,  I  was 
laboring  from  first  to  last,  year  after  year,  without  pay,  and 
always  at  my  own  cost  and  charges. 

"  None,  to  speak  of."  said  the  old  bachelor,  when  asked  how 
many  children  he  had;  and  so  with  me,  when  asked,  hitherto, 
what  sacrifices  I  have  made  for  the  cause,  my  answer  has 
always  been,  "  None  to  speak  of."  But  having  been  mis 
represented  and.  I  may  as  well  say  it,  in  plain  Engli.-h.  belied, 
bv  the  temperance  champions,  following  Mr.  Dow's  lead,  for 
nearly  a  generation.  I  have  determined  to  bear  it  no  longer, 


372  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

and  to  leave  a  record  behind  me,  which  will  be  a  conclusive 
answer,  to  their  calumnies,  when  I  am  in  my  grave. 

But  whv  not  forgive  the  offender  ?  As  well  may  it  be 
asked,  why  not  forgive  the  poisoner,  the  incendiary,  the  house 
breaker,  or  the  midnight  assassin  ?  My  duties  to  myself  and 
family,  to  my  children,  and  to  the  community  in  which  I  live, 
do  not  allow  it.  The  laws  of  God  do  not  require  it.  But 
44  Vengeanre  is  mine ;  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord."  Very 
true ;  yet  man  is  generally  the  instrument  employed,  even 
by  God  himself.  "  We  are  to  forgive  our  enemies."  Very 
true.  But  after  how  long  a  time?  arid  on  what  conditions? 

To  forgive  our  enemies,  as  we  hope  lo  be  forgiven  ;  that 
is,  upon  the  same  conditions  that  we  ourselves  would  ask  to 
be  forgiven,  is  one  thing  :  to  forgive  an  habitual  offender,  a 
notorious  criminal,  a  disturber  of  the  public  peace,  and  a 
violator  of  the  social  amenities,  or  sanctities  rather,  which 
bind  communities  together  for  everlasting  companionship,  is 
quite  another.  For  what  says  our  highest  authority? 

"  If  thy  brother  trespass  against  thee,  rebuke  him :  "  that  I 
did,  most  faithfully!  "And  if  he  repent,  forgive  him:" 
certainly ;  with  all  my  heart.  But  having  waited  eighteen 
years,  for  the  first  sign  of  repentance,  the  first  word  of  con 
ciliation  or  atonement,  and  in  vain,  how  much  longer  shall  I 
wait,  being  now  in  my  seventy-sixth  year,  before  I  arraign 
him,  publicly,  for  his  long-continued  offences  ? 

"  And  if  he  trespass  against  thee  seven  times  in  a  day,"  says 
the  Great  Teacher,  "and  seven  times  in  a  day,  turn  again  to 
thee,  saying,  I  repent,  thou  shalt  forgive  him."  With  all  my 
heart,  I  say  again  ;  but  having  waited  eighteen  years,  how' 
much  longer  shall  I  wait  for  the  day  to  end  —  neither  of  us 
having  much  time  to  lose —  before  I  shall  be  justified  in  say 
ing,  '•  Dear  brother,  I  forgive  thee  :  let  us  be  friends  "  ?  —  and 
not,  "  7s  it  well  with  thee,  my  brother  ?  "  while  my  left  hand* 
is  on  the  hilt  of  a  sword  to  be  buried  in  his  vitals,  after  the 
fashion  of  Mr.  Dow  himself. 

But  again,  that  I  may  not  be  misunderstood  by  the 
brethren,  let  me  add  another  authority. 

'•  Then  came  Peter  to  him  and  said,  Lord,  how  oft  shall  my 
brother  sin  against  me,  and  I  forgive  him  ?  till  seven  tiniest 

"Jesus  saith  unto  him,  I  say  not  unto  thee,  Until  seven 


MR.    NEAL    DOW.  373 

times,  but  Until  seventy  times  seven!"  Tt  may  be  that  my 
amiable  brother  has  overlooked  the  other  two  passages,  and 
counted  onlv  on  this  ;  but  then  how  stands  the  score  ':  and 
who  has  kept  tally  ?  Perhaps  it  would  be  safer  for  him  to  over 
haul  his  Itnj  —  1  wouldn't  be  personal — and  look  into  this 
matter;  and  see  whether,  on  the  whole,  he  has  not  already 
overdrawn  his  allowance.  And  yet.  if  he  should,  what 
then  ?  I  never  knew  him  to  sav.  ••  1  repent.'"  \  never  knew 
him  to  acknowledge  a  mistake,  nor  to  apologize  for  a  wrong. 
On  the  contrary,  he  delights  in  multiplying  the  aggravations, 
and  in  reiterating  whatever  has  been  most  offensive.  Remem 
ber  that  we  are  commanded  to  be  ••  aiKjrij  "  —  that  injunction 
1  have  obeyed  to  the  letter  !  —  "and  sin  not  "  —  which  1  am 
trying  to  do.  Another  injunction  must  not  be  overlooked,  nor 
forgotten.  "  If  it  be  possible."  saith  Paul,  "  «s  much  as  lletk 
in  you.  lice  peaceably  with  all  men"  That  is.  live  peaceably 
with  them  —  if  you  can.  But  how  can  you,  with  such  men  ? 

And  now  to  the  arraignment,  with  a  fe\v  specifications  — 
"To  the  law  and  the  testimony." 

Soon  after  the  case  of  poor  Margaret  Landrigan,  alias 
'*  Kitty  Kentuck."  had  been  disposed  of,  Mr.  Dow  came  out 
with  an  oflicial  declaration,  that  he  "  approved  of  the  settlement 
of  the  North-Ka-teru  Boundary"  —  he.  Mr.  Neal  Dow!  — 
perhaps,  if  he  were  waited  on.  he  might  be  persuaded  to 
approve  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  or  the  purchase  of 
Louisiana  ;  and  then  he  published  the  following  atrocious 
libel  —  anonymously,  of  course  —  in  the  ••  Watchman."  a  tem 
perance  paper,  edited  by  Elder  Peck,  the  notorious  defaulter 

and  .  I  will  not  say  what,  as  he  soon  after  ran  away 

from  the  pulpit,  leaving  Mr.  Dow,  and  others,  in  the  lurch, 
who  were  sureties  for  him,  on  the  bond  he  gave  as  Treasurer 
of  the  State,  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since  —  to  advan 
tage  ;  and  printed  by  a  Christian  brother,  a  deacon  of  the 
High-Street  Church,. who,  if  you  can  believe  me,  took  me  to 
task  for  having  shown  a  flash  of  temper,  when  I  called  Dow 
to  account,  and  he  refused  to  acknowledge  the  article,  though 
I  had  the  proof  in  my  hands;  but  suffered  an  understrapper  in 
the  office,  to  declare  in  the  presence  of  Dow  himself,  that  he, 
Dow,  was  not  the  author  of  the  article,  and  in  fact  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  it —  a  shameless  falsehood,  as  thev  all  knew. 


374  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

[From  the  State  of  Maine,  Sept.  1,  1853.] 
"  MARGARET   LANDRIGAX,  ALIAS  KITTY  KENTUCK. 

"This  is  the  hardest  case  yet.  Kitty  has  been  long  known 
about  town  as  a  most  accomplished  l<nh/.  She  lived,  some  time 
ago,  in  the  small  house  at  the  head  of  Union-Wharf,  where  she, 
ivas  supposed  to  keep  boarders.  The  current  of  her  life  did 
not  always  run  smooth,  for  the  watch  was  sometimes  called  to 
give  her  aid.  She  afterward  moved  to  the  genteel  and  airy 
residence  at  the  head  of  Hancock-Street,  where  she  ha*  kept  a 
very  respectable  house,  well  known  to  all  the  police  and  watch, 
as  *  Kitty  Kentuck's.'  She  has  had  some  little  trouble  in  the 
rumselling  line,  but  has  made  many  friends,  particularly 
among  the  brave  sailors,  who  toast  her  charms  in  every  clime. 
Last  Monday,  she  was  up  before  the  Municipal-Court  for 
selling  a  little  liquor  for  the  stomach's  sake.  His  Honor 
thought  she  ought  to  pay  twenty  dollars,  and  costs,  but  certain 
gentlemen  thought  not ;  and  Me.ssrs.  John  Neal,  W.  II.  Prin- 
ton,  James  W.  Winslow,  and  Dr.  Cummings  of  Park-Street, 
were  her  sureties. 

"  Kitty  has  some  remains  of  beauty  left,  and  shows  that  she 
was  once  very  handsome  ;  her  friends  were  truly  friends  in 
need" 

To  this,  I  replied,  with  singular  moderation,  for  me,  as  fol 
lows  ;  but  after  waiting  a  whole  week,  to  have  it  appear  in  the 
"  Watchman."  that  the  antidote  might  follow  the  poison  —  the 
weasel  the  skunk  —  it  was  rejected  by  my  Christian  brothers, 
the  editor  and  printer,  and  would  have  been  smothered,  had  I 
not,  knowing  with  whom  I  had  to  deal,  kept  a  copy,  which 
first  appeared  in  the  "  Advertiser."  and  then  the  "•  State  of 
Maine,"  our  largest  daily,  Sept.  1,  1853. 

"  MR.  ADVERTISER,  —  Being  unable  to  get  the  following 
reply  into  the  "  Temperance  Watchman,"  where  the  malicious 
article  appeared,  of  which  I  complain,  I  ask  you  to  give  it  a 
place  for  the  sake  of  others,  not  for  myself. 

"Mr.    Watchman,   do    me   the  favor  to  say  that  the  indi- 


MR.    NKAL    DOW.  375 

viduals  denounced  in  your  last  paper,  as  the  sureties  of  Mrs. 
Landri<ran,  '  alias  Kittv  Kentuck,'  were  my  personal  friends, 
not  hers  ;  that  they  knew  nothing  of  her.  nor  of  the  merits 
of  the  case  ;  hut  upon  my  representations,  knowing  me,  they 
consented  to  sign  with  me,  and  for  me. 

••  Had  the  law  been  satisfied  with  ample  security,  the  woman 
herself  was  readv  to  furnish  it  on  the  spot.  But  requiring 
two  different  bonds,  four  different  names,  without  regard  to 
their  ability,  in  the  sum  of  three  Jiundrcd  dollars,  as  if  to  make 
that  provision,  which  allows  of  an  appeal,  a  mere  mockery  ; 
and  as  if  to  make  it  for  the  interest,  even  of  the  guiltless,  to 
submit,  I  had  no  alternative,  with  my  convictions,  in  the 
case,  but  to  help  her  through. 

"  Let  me  add,  that  one  of  the  two  witnesses  who  testified 
against  her,  acknowledged  to  me,  sooti  after  the  trial,  in  the 
presence  of  others,  that  he  knew  nothing  hut  what  his  com 
panion  told  him,  and  that  he  believed  his  companion  lied. 
And  this,  allow  me  to  say,  is  not  the  first  time  that  this  poor 
woman  has  been  convicted  upon  testimony  of  a  very  suspicious 
character,  to  say  the  least  of  it ;  the  only  witness  against  her 
in  the  last  case  having  been  twice  prosecuted  for  perjury 
since. 

"  One  word  more :  let  me  assure  you  that  no  good  cause 
will  ever  be  promoted  by  ribaldry  or  misrepresentation. 

u  JOHN  NEAL. 

"  Portland,  January  15th,  1851." 

And  what  followed  ?  Bear  in  mind  that  the  vile  slanderer 
describes  Margaret  Landrigan  as  an  attractive  woman,  "  a  most 
accomplished  ladtjT  living  in  a  '•  genteel  and  airy  residence,  and 
supposed  to  keep  boarders  ;"  and  that  we,  my  brother-in-law,  a 
family  physician  of  the  highest  character,  and  myself,  as  being 
influenced  by  her  personal  "  charms  ;"  the  facts  being  that  she 
was  a  short,  thick,  red-faced  Irish  woman,  about  fifty  years  of 
age,  living  in  a  wretched  shanty,  just  under  the  droppings  of  a 
graveyard,  and  a  woman  whose  little  property  I  had  >aved  for 
her,  when  she  was  in  the  hands  of  sharpers,  and  made  her 
deposit  every  dollar  of  it  in  our  Merchants'-Bank,  where  it 
remained  for  two  years,  at  least,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  and 
who,  for  other  reasons,  wa>  under  great  obligations  to  me,  and 
I  under  none  to  her,  in  any  wav,  whatever. 


376  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

All  this,  let  me  add.  occurred  soon  after  I  had  been  admit 
ted  to  the  Iliirh-Street  Church.  Of  course,  it  was  an  affair  to 
be  investigated.  1  insisted  upon  it ;  and  the  investigation  led 
to  other  discoveries,  which  I  propose  to  give  some  account  of, 
as  they  occur  to  me,  though  not  always  in  their  chronological 
order,  having  lost  all  my  papers  by  the  fire. 

And  how  were  the  above  exceedingly  temperate  paragraphs 
answered  by  Mr.  Neal  Dow  ?  Read  slowly,  I  pray  you,  and 
then  say  if  I  had  not  good  reason  for  what  follows.  He 
acknowledges,  you  see,  the  truth  of  my  description,  and  the 
utter  falsehood  of  his  own  charges. 

"  Kitty  Kentuck  is  an  Irish  woman,"  he  says,  "  who  for 
years  kept  a  notorious  groggery,  which  has  given  the  police 
more  trouble  than  any  other  place  in  Portland "  (  utterly 
false,  by  the  way).  "  I shall  not  quarrel  with  Mr.  Neal  on  her 
account.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  do  battle  in  the  cause  of  such 
personages,  and  leave  the  field  entirely  to  him.  His  grief  has 
seemed  to  be  that  the  nature  of  his  connection  with  *  Kitty ' 

has  been  misrepresented"  (The  pitiful !  excuse  my 

candor.)  "  He  ought  not  to  charge  that  sin  upon  me  ; "  and 
why  not  ?  He  was  the  author,  and  the  sole  author,  for  he 
adds  :  "  I  always  understood  "  —  mark  this  !  —  "  that  his  rela 
tions  to  her  were  only  those  of  pecuniary  obligations  on  his  part. 
I  never  heard  that  she  was  kind  to  him  in  any  other  way"  So 
then,  the  gentleman  being  cornered,  with  no  possibility  of 
escape,  and  public  opinion  growing  too  hot  for  him  —  scorch 
ing  him  to  the  marrow  —  he  is  driven  to  acknowledge  in  black 
and  white,  with  his  own  signature  at  the  bottom,  that  he  never 
"  understood  "  from  anybody,  what  he  had  charged  me  with, 
and  that  he  had  never  even  "heard"  any  thing  to  justify  the 
charge  !  And  this,  from  the  great  reformer ;  the  putative 
"  Father  of  the  Maine-Law  ; "  the  "  Chief  Engineer,"  the 
"  Ex-Mayor  of  Portland,"  and  the  "  General"  —  faugh  ! 

My  eyes  had  now  begun  to  open,  though  rather  late,  and 
rather  slowly.  Events  and  occurrences,  wholly  forgotten, 
crowded  upon  my  recollection;  and,  little  by  little,  I  began 
to  see  how  grossly,  and  for  how  long  a  time,  I  had  been 
wronged  and  betrayed,  year  after  year.  For  example  :  Long 
before  this  attack  upon  me,  in  passing  the  Mariners'  Church 
one  evening,  I  saw  a  crowd  of  people  about  the  door.  Upon 


MR.    NEAL    DOW.  377 

inquiry.  I  was  told  that  Neal  Dow  —  my  friend,  Real  Dow  — 
was  to  give  a  temperance-lecture.  I  entered,  took  a  seat  near 
the  door,  and  staved  it  out.  In  the  course  of  his  lecture, 
deliberately  written,  mark  yon,  he  described  a  person  —  a 
man  of  acknowledged  and  varied  talent,  a  professional  man, 
occupying  a  high  social  position,  and.  1  think  he  said,  a  rela 
tion,  who  was  doing  incalculable  mischief  to  the  cause  of 
temperance,  both  by  precept  and  example.  As  he  went  on, 
and  on.  giving  characteristic  after  characteristic,  all  eyes  were 
turned  toward  me.  When  he  had  finished,  I  went  up  to 
him  :  he  started  and  colored  ;  evidently  he  had  not  been 
aware  of  mv  presence.  I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time, 
and  asked  who  it  was  that  be  had  been  showing  up.  lie  bog 
gled  and  hesitated,  and,  to  relieve  his  embarrassment,  I  said, 
"Never  mind:  I  have  no  desire  to  know;  but  the  people 
about  us  reallv  seemed  to  think  yon  meant  me."  — "  You! 
Oh,  no:  a  thought  of  you  never  entered  my  head;"  and  I 
was  fool  enough  to  believe  him. 

Not  lonir  after  this,  my  charming  friend  was  a  candidate  for 
mayor.  He  was  not  my  choice  :  but  still,  I  thought,  with  his 
energy  and  wilfulness,  he  would  be  likely  to  do  good,  by  en 
forcing  the  law,  against  groir-shops,  at  least,  for  which  object 
only  he  had  been  thought  of;  but,  having  just  been  admitted 
to  the  church.  I  was  unwilling  to  make  myself  conspicuous 
by  electioneering,  or  caucusing,  and  seriously  intended  to  hold 
myself  aloof,  till  the  day  of  election.  But  some  of  the  breth 
ren  called  upon  me,  and  begged  me  to  attend  a  meeting  in  the 
city-hall,  and  urge  the  election  of  Mr.  Dow.  I  consented, 
at  last,  saying  I  should  not  make  a  speech,  but  I  would  say 
something.  I  went.  My  friend,  Senator  Fessenden,  was  in 
the  chair.  Having  been  called  for,  from  all  parts  of  the 
house,  by  previous  arrangement,  I  dare  say,  though  I  knew 
nothing  of  it  at  the  time,  I  took  the  platform,  and  contented 
myself  with  saying  that  I  had  known  Mr.  Dow  from  his  ear 
liest  boyhood  ;  that  he  was  in  earnest  —  always  in  earnest ;  that 
be  was  not  my  first  choice,  for  I  had  been  hoping  to  see  Mr. 
J.  C.  Noves  in  the  field  ;  but  —  and  here  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  that,  if  I  did  not  explain  myself,  I  should  be  doing  Mr. 
Dow  a  mischief  instead  of  a  kindness  —  I  added  that  my 
chief  objection  to  the  man,  after  all,  amounted  to  this,  and 


378  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

this  only ;  that  he  was  too  much  like  myself.  This  brought 
down  the  house,  and  I  left  the  platform  in  the  midst  of  the 
uproar  that  followed.  In  passing  the  chair.  Fessenden  leaned 
over  and  said  to  me,  "  You've  elected  your  man  !  "  And  so  it 
proved.  But  Mr.  Neal  Dow,  however  much  he  may  have 
been  delighted  with  my  acknowledgment  of  a  resemblance  —  a 
resemblance  in  temper  and  character,  so  far  as  I  knew  at  the 
time,  and  not  in  personal  appearance,  bearing,  principles,  or 
behavior  —  no,  indeed  —  never  forgave  me  because  I  had  ac 
knowledged  my  preference  for  another.  Yet  more.  When  1, 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  all  mv  life,  failed  to  cast  my  vote, 
owing  to  a  mistake  in  the  hour,  and  apologized  to  him  for  it, 
he  laid  it  up  against  me,  and  taunted  me  with  it,  on  a  later 
occasion,  so  as  to  show  how  deeply  it  galled  him. 

While  mayor,  the  deadly  venom  he  had  been  secreting  for 
years,  became  dangerous  to  himself.  Out  it  must  come,  or, 
like  the  scorpion  circled  by  fire,  he  might  be  obliged  to  sting 
himself  to  death.  One  day,  therefore,  while  we  were,  as  I 
supposed,  on  the  most  friendly  terms,  though  we  did  not  ngree 
on  the  remedies  for  intemperance,  a  friend  sent  me  a  monthly 
magazine,  containing  "A  TRUE  STORY,  by  the  Honorable 
Neal  Dow."  I  read  it  with  unqualified  amazement.  It  pur 
ported  to  give  the  private  history  of  my  neighborhood,  with 
that  of  many  families  in  State-Street,  my  own  among  the 
number.  The  street  itself  was  described  as  very  wide,  with 
a  double  row  of  trees  on  each  side,  large,  handsome  houses, 
and  a  view  of  the  White-Hills ;  in  a  word,  so  that  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  neighborhood,  nor  the  street.  After  signify 
ing,  in  language  not  to  be  mistaken,  that  my  friend, 
Grenville  Mellen,  the  poet,  son  of  our  late  Chief-Justice 
Mellen,  had  died,  away  from  his  father's  house,  and  been  trun 
dled  on  a  wheelbarrow  to  the  Potter's-field,  in  New-York 
City,  "without  a  friend  to  follow  that  humble  bier"  —  an 
atrocious  calumny,  without  one  word  of  truth  in  it,  beyond 
the  fact  that  he  died  in  New-York,  and  was  buried,  if  I  re 
member  aright,  in  Greenwood  Cemetery  —  he  then  ^ave 
sketches  of  other  families  in  State-Street,  and,  among  the 
number,  of  mine  ;  and  asserted  —  the  shameless  calumniator  ! 
—  that  I  had  ruined  my  eldest  born,  by  having  wine  at  my 
table,  and  by  my  example  ;  that  son  being  a  generous,  noble, 


MR.    NEAL    DOW.  379 

free-spirited  fellow,  of  uncommon  talents,  and  superior  educa 
tion,  and  highly  accomplished,  with  but  one  fault  worth  men 
tioning"  :  a  tank,  hv  the  way.  which  made  its  first  appearance 
at  the  great  lire  in  Free-Street,  when  he  was  about  sixteen, 
and  liquors  were  served  out  in  the  street,  from  the  casks  and 
demijohns  that  had  been  rescued  from  cellars,  and  then, 
though  he  had  never  tasted  wine  at  his  father's  table  —  except, 
as  I  have  already  mentioned,  when  he  was  hardly  live,  and 
the  wine  itself  being  a  diluted  Muscat,  was  little  more  than 
sweetened  water,  and  in  quantity  not  more  than  a  dessert 
spoonful —  nor  elsewhere:  and  knew  not  even  the  ta^te  of 
stronger  liquor,  as  I  verily  believe.  But  he  was  bullied  and 
badgered  into  drinking  after  this,  by  people  who  charged  him 
with  being  afra-.d  of  the  "old  man."  and  with  being  one  of 
the  ramrods,  or  teetotalers:  and  finally  exasperated  into  self- 
assertion,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  or  thereabouts,  by  the  intoler 
ant  bigotry  and  fanaticism  of  people  who  seemed  to  believe 
that  men  might  be  made  Christians,  or  anchorites,  at  least,  by 
legislative  enactment. 

This  "  True  Story  "  moved  my  indignation,  as  well  it  might, 
and  J  lost  no  time  in  having  it  republi.-hed,  word  for  word, 
first  in  the  "  Expositor,"  and  then,  no  less  than  three  times,  in 
the  "  State  of  Maine,"  our  largest  "  Daily."  between  March 
and  July.  18;V2. 

Xo  sooner  had  it  appeared,  than,  to  my  unspeakable  amaze 
ment.  I  found  that  the  same  story  —  the  same  jibs*  I  should 
sav  —  in  substance,  had  been  told  by  Mr.  Dow,  before  the 
mayor  and  aldermen,  years  before,  when  he  and  I  were  on 
the  most  friendly  terms,  and  I  was  constantly  doing  him 
favors,  and  advancing  his  interest,  and  all  his  ambitious 
schemes  in  every  possible  way ;  lending  him  my  notes,  for 
example,  one  of  which  I  found  no  little  difficulty  in  getting 
back,  after  it  had  been  paid  into  the  bank,  of  which  he  was  a 
director,  though  I  never  asked  such  a  thing  of  him  in  all  my 
life,  nor  any  other  iavor,  indeed  ;  and  yet  I  had  never  heard 
of  the  "  storv."  till  it  appeared  in  print. 

By  this  time,  a  lew  of  the  many  tried  friends  of  Mr.  Dow 
—  and  some  were  sorely  tried  —  began  to  be  alarmed;  and 
among  others.  Mr.  Ebcn  Steele.  one  of  our  best  men,  though, 
like  myself,  rather  unsuspicious,  thought  proper  to  question 


380  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

him  about  his  "TRUE  STORY."  And  what,  think  you,  was 
the  fellow's  answer?  Why.  that  it  had  no  reference  what 
ever  to  me  or  mine,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  State-Street, 
or  the  families  of  that  neighborhood  !  Nay.  more  :  that  lie 
had  all  the  facts  frum  the  Rev.  Luther  Ueecher.  of  New- 
York  ;  and  this,  though  they  had  occurred  within  I'ieiv  of  the 
White-Hills,  where  there  were  a  double  row  of  trees  on  each 
side  of  a  broad,  handsome  street,  the  handsomest  and  broad 
est  we  have,  crowded  with  magnificent  houses,  palaces  al 
most  ;  there  being  no  other  street  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
corresponding  with  such  a  description.  Nay,  more :  this  he 
said  to  Mr.  John  A.  Poor,  editor  of  the  "  State  of  Maine," 
and  even  went  so  far,  I  have  been  lately  told,  though  I  had 
forgotten  it,  as  to  publish  his  denial  in  some  paper  of  the  day. 
If  so,  I  shall  certainly  drag  it  forth,  if  it  be  above  ground,  or 
if  a  copy  can  be  had  for  love  or  money  ;  and  before  I  get 
through,  give  him  all  the  advantage  of  publicity. 

But  this,  however  astonishing  it  may  appear  to  those  who 
have  any  regard  for  truth  or  appearances,  or  any  self-respect, 
was  no  more  than  he  did,  over  and  over  again,  while  mayor 
of  the  city.  Once,  for  example,  he  proclaimed  to  the  world, 
over  his  official  signature,  that  the  cells  of  the  watch-house 
were  no  longer  used  for  drunkards,  but  only  to  store  seized 
liquors;  and  that,  for  a  certain  period  before  he  went  into 
office,  we  were  little  better  than  a  community  of  drunkards. 
I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  precise  language,  my  papers  hav 
ing  all  been  destroyed  by  the  great  fire  ;  but  I  pledge  myself, 
here  and  now,  for  the  substantial  truth  of  what  I  say,  and  hold 
myself  answerable  for  it. 

Since  the  above  was  written,  I  have  been  furnished  with 
the  evidence  I  want. 

On  the  27th  of  September,  1851,  Mr.  Dow,  the  mayor  of 
Portland,  published  to  the  world,  without  qualification  or  mis 
giving,  these  words :  "  The  watch-house  is  now  used  to  keep 
seized  liquors  in,  instead  of  drunkards"  This  went  the 
rounds  of  all  our  papers,  East,  West,  North,  and  South. 

And  yet,  at  this  very  time,  September,  1851,  there  were  no 
less  than  forty-eight  persons  confined  in  the  watch-house  — 
three  for  larceny,  and  forty-jive  for  drunkenness! 

Yet    more.      At  the   time   when  he   was  bragging  of  the 


MR.    NEAL    DOAY.  381 

reformation  he  had  brought  about  among  our  people,  by  the 
help  of  what  was  called  u  The  Maine-Law,"  a  law,  by 
the  way.  which  was  never  the  same  for  twelve  months  to 
gether,  as  if  we  had  b  'en  a  community  of  drunkards,  a  city 
of  groceries  and  lippling-shops,  I  obtained  the  certificate  of 
Mr.  Baker,  the  jailer,  that,  from  July,  1S.">1,  to  September, 
18.03,  two  years  and  two  months,  there  had  been  onlv  eighty- 
one  different  persons  committed,  though  the  number  of  com 
mittals  amounted  to  one  hundred  and  three  :  a  small  part  of 
the  number  having  been  committed  from  one  to  seven  times. 
And  this,  in  twemy-MX  months;  less  than  three  a  month,  in 
a  citv  of  drunkards,  under  the  vigorous  administration  of 
Mayor  Dow! 

At  another  time,  he  declared  that  no  liquor  could  be  found 
icithin  jire  wiles  of  tlte  city :  and  at  another,  that  not  a  drop 
could  be  had  nearer  than  Mnosehead-Lake !  And  yet,  he 
knew,  for  everybody  here  knew  the  fact,  that  there  were  hun 
dreds  of  places  within  the  citv  of  Portland,  where  liquor,  and 
the  worst,  might  always  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  that  grog 
shops  and  Irish  boarding-houses  and  negro-shanties,  where 
liquors  were  kept  in  oil-cans  and  pickle-jars,  under  beds  and 
in  out-house>.  were  multiplied  to  a  frightful  extent  ;  and  just 
what  I  had  foreseen  and  foretold,  from  the  lirst,  the  most  in 
genious  evasions  were  resorted  to.  Liquors  were  sold  in  the 
shape  of  books,  made  of  tin.  painted,  and  lettered  with  some 
attractive  title:  such  as  -  Drop-*  of  Comfort;"  ''Consolation 
for  the  Afflicted  ;"  "Hints  for  the  Ungodly."  Drams,  too, 
were  sold  in  the  form  of  eggs,  made  of  porcelain.  Walking- 
sticks  and  heavy  canes  were  contrived  to  hold  from  a  half- 
pint  to  a  quart  of  brandy.  Clubs  and  associations  were 
formed,  for  the  purpose  of  drinking  and  gambling,  not  onlv  in 
public,  but  in  private  houses.  Young  men  would  travel  with 
portmanteaus  containing  bottles,  or  take  a  room,  anywhere, 
and  invite  their  companions  to  a  treat ;  of  course,  drinking 
more  and  oftener.  than  if  they  went  openly  to  a  bar.  And 
all  this,  not  so  much,  perhaps,  from  a  love  of  liquor,  as  for  a 
love  of  what  they  called  spirit,  or  fun.  Having  been  for 
bidden  by  law  to  control  themselves,  to  touch,  taste,  or  handle, 
under  the  severest  penalties,  they  determined  to  have  their 
own  way,  like  so  many  school-boys,  iu  defiance  of  the  master ; 


382  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

in  other  words,  by  over-reaching  or  outwitting  the  author 
ities. 

At  another  time,  I  met  with  an  account  of  Portland,  pub 
lished  in  a  Western  paper,  and  purporting  to  have  been  fur 
nished  by  an  eye-witness  of  what  he  related.  He  had  been 
taken  over  the  city,  and  shown  clusters  of  neat  little  cottages, 
in  the  best  possible  condition,  which  somebody,  "a  temperance-, 
leader,"  assured  him  were  owned  and  occupied  by  reformed 
Irish  inebriates  !  Who  was  that  somebody  ?  I  never  knew 
for  a  certainty  ;  but  this  I  did  know,  and  do  know  :  that  there 
was  riot  another  man,  among  all  our  temperance-leaders,  capa 
ble  of  such  a  preposterous  falsehood.  He  was  called  a  Phari 
see,  after  some  of  these  mortifying  exposures  ;  but  I  always 
defended  him,  for  he  was  rather  down  in  the  mouth  at  the 
time,  by  saying  that  he  was  only  a  little  Sad-you-see. 

The  result  of  all  his  engineering  and  manoeuvring  was, 
that,  instead  of  being  re-elected  the  following  year,  the  pleas 
ant  gentleman  was  tumbled,  neck-and-heels.  out  of  his  chair, 
and  then  shelved  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life.  We  elected 
him  first,  because  we  did  not  know  him ;  and  we  refused  a 
re-election,  because  we  did.  Having  tried  him,  and  he  us,  we 
had  no  choice  left,  if  we  would  not  become  a  laughing-stock 
for  all  generations. 

Meanwhile,  "The  Maine-Law"  —  the  hugest  of  humbugs, 
though  declared  so  perfect  from  the  first,  by  the  reputed  au 
thor  himself,  that  he  would  ask  for  no  change,  none  whatever; 
not  even  for  the  crossing  of  a  £,  or  the  dotting  of  an  /  —  had 
been  turned  inside  out,  and  outside  in,  and  undergone  so  many 
changes,  that  it  was  like  the  boy's  jack-knife,  with  its  two  or 
three  new  handles,  and  three  or  four  new  blades,  but  still  the 
same,  was  found  to  bear  a  startling  resemblance  to  the  old 
embargo  laws,  which  were  likened  to  "  The  House  that  Jack 
built."  First,  we  had  "  An  Act  laying  on  an  Embargo ; " 
then,  "An  Act  in  addition  to  an  Act,  entitled  an  Act  laying 
on  an  Embargo ; "  and  then.  "  An  Act  supplementary  to  an 
Act,  in  addition  to  an  Act,  entitled  an  Act  laying  on  an  Em 
bargo,"  &c.,  &c.,  until  the  people  would  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
the  law  was  trampled  under  foot  with  indignation,  and  izrog- 
shops  and  drinking-saloons  were  multiplied  by  the  score,  and 
drugged  liquors,  and  poisonous,  adulterated  wines  were  drunk 


MR.    XF.AL    DOW.  '3S3 

by  the  quart  in  all  our  leading  thoroughfares  and  public- 
houses,  and  often  by  the  youthful,  in  derision,  or  in  defiance. 

At  lust,  one  day,  a  State-convention  was  called,  just  on  the 
eve  of  a  State-election.  Of  course.  I  did  not  intend  to  ap 
pear ;  but  General  Appleton,  a  standard-bearer  among  the 
Tee-to-talers,  overtook  me.  on  my  way  up  to  my  house,  and 
entreated  me  not  to  abandon  the  struggle  :  asking  me.  on  the 
way.  it  I  could  suggest  any  thing  to  stay  the  mischief.  Only 
one  thinu  occurred  to  me.  It  was  to  declare  solemnly  by  a  reso 
lution,  that,  being  pledqed  temperance-men  ourselves,  we  could 
not.  conscientiously,  cast  our  vote  for  any  but  pledged  tem 
perance-men.  "  Capital  !  "  said  he  :  "  the  very  thing  we 
want;  but  who  will  bell  the  cat?"  —  "I  will  undertake  that 
job,"  said  J.  "I  will  go  into  the  Convention  with  you,  and 
offer  such  a  resolution,  if  you  will  second  it."  — k'  Agreed." 
I  kept  my  promise,  and  he  his;  prefacing  the  Resolution  with 
a  few  remarks,  in  substance,  to  the  following  effect.  Though 
I  would  not  encourage  hypocrisy,  I  would  encourage  conceal 
ment,  where  the  open  violation  of  law  would  be  likely  to 
mislead  others.  Open  licentiousness,  I  take  it.  would  be 
somewhat  worse  than  private  licentiousness  of  the  same 
character.  All  our  ambitious  men  will  be  ready  to  "  feign  a 
virtue  if  they  have  it  not."  No  class  are  doing  more  mis 
chief  by  their  example,  than  our  lawyers.  I  see  rank,  unfal 
tering,  unquailing  perjury,  the  rankest  I  ever  saw,  committed 
every  day,  in  these  liquor-cases,  only  to  be  smiled  at  by  the 
bench,  and  chuckled  over  by  the  bar.  I  see  men,  occupying 
the  position  of  prosecutors,  and  claiming  to  represent  the 
Majesty  of  our  Commonwealth,  with  bleared  eyes,  and  shak 
ing  hands,  apostrophizing  the  jury,  while  urging  the  claims  of 
temperance,  till  the  whole  dramatis  person cc  (understrappers 
and  supernumeraries),  lawgivers,  judges,  and  jurors,  would 
seem  to  be  playing  a  ridiculous  and  contemptible  farce.  Gen 
eral  Appleton  followed,  in  a  long,  Massachusetts-oration,  like 
those  you  hear  in  the  General-Court,  of  which  he  had  been 
a  member. 

The  Resolution  passed  unanimously;  and  then  what  fol 
lowed?  Why.  these  thorough-going,  pledged  temperance- 
men  went  into  the  field  with  candidates,  notoriously  unpledged, 
with  one  or  more  given  to  dram-drinking  as  a  habit,  while 


384  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

one,  at  last,  was  acknowledged  to  be  intemperate.  From  that 
hour.  I  determined  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  tem 
perance  party.  "Henceforth.''  said  I.  after  the  style  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  "you  may  skin  your  own  skunks;  I  go  upon  my 
own  hook,  hereafter,  preaching  temperance  in  my  own  way, 
both  by  precept  and  example;  taking  a  glass  of  wine  —  of 
sound,  pure  wine  —  if  it  can  be  had,  though  I  almost  believe  it 
cannot  be  had  for  love  or  money,  most  of  the  time  —  whenever 
I  feel  so  disposed,  and  openly,  before  the  world,  without  shuf 
fling,  evasion,  or  concealment,"  And  this,  I  have  continued  to 
do  ever  since ;  but  having  found  precious  little,  if  any,  pure, 
undrugged  wine,  to  my  knowledge,  my  transgressions  have 
been  few  and  far  between ;  amounting,  for  thirty  or  forty 
years,  to  no  more  than  a  dozen  glasses  or  so,  of  what  passed 
for  wine ;  while,  of  other  liquors,  I  have  never  tasted,  until 
within  the  last  year  or  two,  when  a  preparation  of  Calasaya 
having  been  urged  upon  me,  and,  occasionally,  a  spoonful  of 
whiskey  or  brandy,  by  my  wife  and  daughters,  for  reasons 
they  understand  better  than  I  do,  I  have  taken  it  almost 
every  day  for  the  last  eighteen  months,  at  the  rate  of  a  spoon 
ful  a  day ;  and  I  do  believe  it  has  strengthened,  if  not  my 
bodily  health,  at  least,  my  judgment  and  convictions  against 
every  kind  of  spurious,  counterfeit,  and  adulterated  liquor, 
whatever  may  be  the  name.  And  yet,  in  the  judgment  of 
those  fanatics  and  hypocrites,  many  of  them,  who  are  clamor 
ing  against  medicinal  preparations,  alcohol  in  the  arts,  and 
habits  of  indulgence,  no  more  hurtful  to  the  parties  them 
selves,  nor  to  their  families,  nor  to  the  public  at  large,  and  not 
much  more  likely  to  crowd  our  lunatic-asylums,  our  poor- 
houses,  penitentiaries,  and  jails,  than  extravagant  living  —  or 
wasteful  expenditure  in  any  other  shape,  I  am  held  to  be  no 
friend  of  temperance,  and  not  even  a  temperate  man  !  A 
plague  on  such  blind,  obstinate,  miserable  bigots,  I  say  ! 

Let  the  revolutions  just  made  by  the  •'  World,"  that  unin 
tentional,  but  generous  and  hearty  champion  of  Temperance, 
be  published  in  a  pamphlet  form,  and  sent  East,  West,  North, 
and  South,  all  over  the  land,  into  all  the  bars  and  bar-rooms, 
clubs  and  bowling-alleys,  houses  and  shops,  and  it  will 
do  more  than  all  this  conventional  exaggeration,  and  all  our 
blundering,  foolish,  and  pestiferous  legislation,  to  make  men 


THE  "TRUE  TALE."  385 

afraid  of  drinking,  if  they  have  but  a  thimbleful  of  common- 
sense. 

And  now.  having  reached  another  stopping-place,  let  me 
take  up  two  or  three  smaller  affairs,  in  which  I  have  been 
deeply  interested  heretofore,  that  I  may  be  able  to  u'h'e  my 
whole  attention  to  the  last  chapter  of  this  "  strange,  eventful 
history." 

P.S.  After  much  inquiry.  I  have  at  last  obtained  a  copy  of 
Mr.  Dow's  infamous  libel.  I  take  it  from  the  "  Maine  Ex 
positor  "  of  March  24,  1852.  It  is  headed.  '•  History  of  a 
Neighborhood:  A  TRUE  TALE,  by  Honorable  Neal  Dow." 
The  following  passages  will  show  whether  I  have  exaggerated 
in  what  I  have  already  given  from  recollection  :  — 

'•  The  extensive  landscape  which  lay  outspread  before  them, 
with  the  Whitc-IIiUs  distinct///  projected  ayainst  the  sky  in  the 
distance,  was  one  of  great  beauty.  ...  A  few  steps  brought 
them  to  a  broad  street,  adorned  with  line  houses,  a/id  a  double 
row  <>f  frees  on  each  side.  No  city  in  the  land  can  show  a 
more  beautiful  street,  if  taken  in  connection  with  its  ample 
width,  its  extent,  the  palaces,  almost,  upon  either  hand,  and 
particularly  its  multitude  of  noble  trees,  which  stretch  nearly 
across  it.  and  afford  a  refreshing  shade  " —  a  description  which 
applies  to  State-Street,  and  to  no  other  street  on  earth,  in  view 
of  the  White-Hills.  In  that  street  I  lived  at  the  time,  as  I  do 
now,  and  had  lived  for  sixteen  years.  But  he  proceeds, 
"Now,  just  as  we  turn  this  corner"  —  the  corner  of  State- 
Street —  "observe  that  magnificent  house  opposite  us;  the 
home  of  wealth,  of  taste,  and  refinement.  But  there  is,  at 
this  moment,  a  skeleton  in  that  house.  If  we  should  enter, 
we  should  behold,  on  every  hand,  all  the  appliances  of  luxury, 
all  the  adornments  that  cultivated  taste  can  desire,  or  wealth 
procure:  magnificent  furniture*  books,  pictures,  and  various 
works  of  art,  which  crowd  its  lofty  and  spacious  apartments  " 
—  all  which,  allowing  for  the  man's  habitual  exaggeration  and 
base  envy,  had  truth  enough  in  it  to  show  who  was  meant. 

But.  to  make  the  deadly  poison  more  deadly,  he  goes  on  ;  and, 
after  telling,  what,  in  the  English  language,  there  is  but  one 
word  to  express,  about  my  poor  son,  with  just  enough  truth  in 
it  to  identify  the  individual  meant,  as  in  the  case  of  Chief- 
Justice  Mellen,  he  adds,  "  This  boy  has  been  ruined  by  an 

25 


386  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

appetite  generated  and  strengthened  by  the  wine  which  he  has 
habitually  taken  at  Jtis  father's  table"  A  wicked,  shameless, 

and  deliberate ;  for  he  knew,  so  far  as  he  knew  any  thing 

of  our  domestic  habits,  that  nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  hap 
pened  in  my  family ;  that  we  had  not  given  a  drop  of  wine 
to  guest  or  visitor,  since  the  boy  referred  to  was  live  years  of 
age  ;  and  that  he  had  never  tasted  a  drop  in  his  father's  house, 
beyond  a  teaspoonful  of  Muscat,  mixed  with  two  or  three 
teaspoonfuls  of  water. 

*•  Yet  he  "  (the  father  —  meaning  me)  "  had  not  manly  cour 
age  enough  to  break  away  from  a  custom  which  weak  people 
seem  to  think  necessary  in  a  genteel  establishment"  —  and  all 
this,  when  the  base  libeller  knew  that  I  was  the  first  man  here 
to  give  up  wine,  and  to  withhold  wine  from  guests  and  visitors, 
and  that  I  had  done  so  from  the  time  when  my  children  swal 
lowed  the  sharpest  vinegar  for  wine,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
under  the  influence  of  example  ;  that  is,  for  full  sixteen  years! 
"  Although,"  he  adds,  "  although  the  father  was  every  way 
qualified  to  had  public  opinion,  and  to  give  law  to  custom,  yet 
he  has,  in  this  case,  sacrificed  his  domestic  happiness  to  one 
which  he  felt  to  be  wrong,  and  knew  to  be  dangerous." 
How  entirely  of  a  piece  with  that  lecture  in  the  "  Manners' 
Church,"  where,  being  taken  by  surprise,  he  declared  that  he 
was  not  thinking  of  me,  though  the  characteristics  he  men 
tioned  were  substantially  the  same ! 


PHRENOLOGY.  387 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

PHRENOLOGY;  ANIMAL  MAGNETISM:  SPIRITUALISM :  THE  DEATH-PENALTY; 
MODEST  MEN;  PAINTERS  AND  PAINTINGS;  GROWTH  OK  PORTLAND; 
JAMES  NEAL:  STEPHEN  NEAL;  THE  WILL-CASE:  ENGINEERING  OK  MR. 

NKAL  DOW,  GUARDIAN  OK  STEPHEN  NEAL:  GARRISON:  MOB  IN  PORT 
LAND;  PARR  AND  TAMMANY  HALL;  ABOLITIONISTS:  GENERAL  KESSEN- 

DEN;  DEBATES;  WOMEN'S  RIGHTS:  LECTURE  IN  THE  TABERNACLE, 
NEW-YORK:  DEBATES  THERE;  ROWDY-DOWS,  AND  DEATH  OK  POOR  ROB- 
BINS;  MUTUAL  BENEKIT  LIKE  INSURANCE  COMPANY,  CAIRO,  ILL.  ;  MRS. 
PIERCE  AND  GAIL  HAMILTON;  REV.  M  R.  CH  AM  BERS  :  WOMAN  SUFFRAGE; 
OBJECTIONS  ANSWERED;  MR.  PIERI'ONT  AND  THE  "TWO-PENNY  POST- 
BAG;  "  SUM  TOTAL. 

WIIILI:  abroad.  I  undertook  a  partial  —  or,  I  might  say,  an 
intjxirtin! —  investigation  of  Phrenology  :  and  after  inv  return, 
I  went  into  the  subject  with  my  whole  heart,  believing  that,  if 
true,  it  was  indeed  a  revelation  from  the  "  Father  of  Lights," 
Itnnself;  and  if  untrue,  or  a  delusion,  it  should  be  examined 
and  exposed,  without  fear  or  favor.  The  result  was,  after 
much  studv,  and  numberless  manipulations,  that  I  became 
thoroughly  convinced  of  its  general  truth,  so  far  as  the  leading 
principles  were  involved,  which  conviction  has  never  been 
weakened,  but  evermore  strengthened,  by  all  1  have  seen  or 
heard  since. 

Then  followed  animal  magnetism,  and  clairvoyance,  and 
spiritualism,  all  of  which  I  claim  to  have  investigated  patient 
ly,  laboriously,  and  honestly,  though  not  always  with  satis 
factory  results.  I  went  off  to  Providence,  when  Miss  Brackett 
was  in  her  zenith  ;  and  there  had  to  do  with  an  old  physician, 
Dr.  B.,  who  had  lost  both  position,  and  a  large  practice, 
by  harboring  her,  and  believing  in  her,  as  a  clairvoyante  ; 
and  I  found,  moreover,  that  a  young  woman,  a  somnambulist, 
whom  he  had  occasion  to  treat,  was  able  to  describe,  while 
in  the  magnetic  sleep,  the  furniture  and  appearance  of  a 
room,  into  which  she  had  never  entered,  where  a  sick  man 
lay,  who  was  believed  by  Dr.  B.  himself  to  be  dying  of  a 


388  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

diseased  liver.  Having  satisfied  the  doctor  about  the  room 
and  furniture,  as  a  test,  he  desired  her  to  see  what  ailed  the 
man.  "  What  do  you  see  ?  "  he  asked.  —  "  A  man  sick."  — 
"  What  ails  him  ?  look  first  at  his  head ;  is  that  well  ? "  — 
"  Yes."  —  "  How  do  you  know  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
see  the  internal  organization  ?  "  —  "  Yes."  —  "  Is  the  liver,  heart, 
&c.,  well  ?  "  —  "  Yes  :  it  lookg  just  the  same  as  yours,  or  any 
body's  else  !  " —  "  Well,  do  you  see  any  thing  wrong  ?  "  —  k'  Yes, 
there  is  an  enlargement  of  the  spleen."  She  was  then  questioned 
about  the  viscera,  the  spleen,  <fec.,  and  answered  satisfactorily, 
though  the  doctor  was  incredulous.  Seven  days  after  this,  the 
man  died.  Dr.  B..  having  obtained  leave  to  make  a  post-mor 
tem  examination,  called  in  every  physician  of  the  city,  and 
narrated  the  story  of  the  girl,  in  the  presence  of  eighteen 
persons,  sixteen  of  ivhom  were  physicians.  The  doctor  stated 
the  case  to  them,  and  asked  them  if  they  could  discover  the 
diseased  spleen  from  external  examination.  With  one  voice, 
they  declared  they  could  not. 

He  then  opened  the  body,  and,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of 
all  the  physicians  present,  found  the  spleen  so  enlarged  as  .to 
weigh  fifty-seven  ounces  !  the  usual  weight  being  from  four  to 
six  ounces. 

To  counteract  this  most  conclusive  demonstration,  it  was 
then  reported  that  the  young  lady  had  been  studying  anatomy. 

This  was  without  the  least  foundation  ;  but  if  true,  what 
then  ?  She  had  not  seen  the  sufferer  ;  and  how  came  she  to 
be  so  much  wiser  than  the  whole  medical  faculty  of  Provi 
dence,  Dr.  B.  himself  included  ? 

Ah  !  but  she  had  been  told  by  somebody,  and  she  may  have 
been  present  at  some  discussions,  and  perhaps  heard  the  spleen 
suggested. 

If  so,  who  was  that  somebody,  and  who  made  such  a  sug 
gestion  ?  Could  such  a  secret  be  kept  ?  Would  not  the  person, 
whether  a  medical  man  or  not,  be  sure  to  claim  the  credit  of 
such  a  suggestion,  if  only  to  shame  the  faculty,  or  Dr.  B.,  or 
the  young  lady  herself?  And  yet  no  such  person  appeared ; 
and  although  the  doctor  hazarded  every  thing  that  was  dear  to 
a  professional  man,  he  never  faltered  nor  quailed,  from  first  to 
last,  and  having  prepared,  and  invited  his  brethren  to  be 
present,  stood  the  hazard  of  the  die,  and  was  convicted  by  her 


CLAIRVOYANCE    AND    SPIRITUALISM.  389 

of  serious  error,  in  common  with  all  his  brethren.  Other 
cases.  I  iniizht  mention  :  but  this  satisfied  me  that  the  n'it't,  or 
disease,  if  you  will,  of  clairvoyance,  could  not  be  questioned. 
That  epileptic  and  cataleptic  patients  are  thus  gifted,  proves 
nothing.  On  my  return  to  Portland,  a  public  meeting  was 
held  in  the  city-hall,  where  1  gave  an  account  of  the  phe 
nomena  I  had  witnessed.  A  debate  followed,  with  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Whitman.  Dr.  Mighlcs,  and  others,  against,  while  I  was 
for  these  demonstrations. 

And  so  with  what  is  called'"  spiritualism."  Not  bein<j  a 
materialist.  I  am.  of  couise.  a  spiritualist.  And  having 
paticntlv.  and  conscientiouslv.  ijone  through  a  ionjj  course  of 
experiment.  I  have  co'iie  to  the  conclusion  that,  notwithstand 
ing  all  the  knavery. 'and  falsehood,  and  self-delusion,  which  I 
have  assisted  in  expo>m^  and  punishing,  a  lar^'e  proportion  of 
these  perplexing  phenomena,  which  are  called  spiritual  mani 
festations,  cannot  be  accounted  for  bv  anv  laws  of  nature,  or 
mechanic-,  with  which  we  are  now  acquainted  ;  cannot  be, 
the  result  of  deception  or  jugglery,  and  that  they  are  guided 
bv  inti'lliyence  ;  in  other  words,  by  spirits  or  spiritual  in 
fluences.  That  evil  and  mischief  may  both  be  propagated  by 
the  abuse  of  such  intelligence.  J  believe;  and  that  we  cannot 
be  too  watchful  of  ourselves,  nor  too  much  upon  our  guard 
against  .-elf-delusion,  "and  peeping  and  muttering,"  while 
investigating  mysteries  like  these,  if  we  would  not  go  on  be 
lieving  more  and  more,  till  we  believe  too  much,  and  finish  our 
investigations  in  a  mad-house. 

Upon  imprisonment  for  debt,  upon  woman's  rights  —  but 
another  phase  of  the  same  question  —  I  have  labored  with  effect, 
I  believe  ;  upon  our  militia-system,  also  ;  upon  slavery  and 
colonization,  and  our  foolish  fondness  for  foolish  titles,  against 
which  I  have  warred  with  all  my  strength,  ever  since  my 
lamented  associate  in  business,  the  Rev.  John  Pierpont,  pub 
lished  the  "  Airs  of  Palestine,"  with  an  engraved  title-page, 
having  upon  it  the  name  of  '•  John  Pierpont,  Esquire  :  and  ever 
since  I  was  required  to  say,  "  Your  Honor''  to  a  judge,  even 
though  it  were  Judge  Marshall  himself,  Chief-Justice  of  the 
United-States,  which  I  have  always  refused  to  do.  until  within 
the  last  twelvemonth  or  so.  Getting  weary  of  explanations 
and  apologies,  for  what  might  be  considered  incivility  by 


390  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

strangers,  I  hav.e  begun  to  give  and  take  these  foolish  "  titles," 
going  back,  therefore,  at  the  end  of  nearly  fifty  years,  to  the 
fashion  that  prevailed,  when  a  list  of  names  never  appeared  in 
the  papers  without  a  prefix  to  each,  of  Honorable  or  Excel 
lency,  or  General  (of  the  militia),  or  a  quirk  at  the  end.  which 
was  to  be  translated  Esquire,  for  which,  pray  forgive  me. 

Upon  the  death-penalty*  or  what  is  called  "capital  punish 
ment,"  I  have  also  written  much, and  not  a  little  to  the  purpose; 
having  no  belief  in  the  wisdom  of  strangulation,  for  men,  women, 
and  children,  however  much  they  might  seem  to  deserve  it,  and 
being  fully  persuaded  that  the  worst  men  have  most  need  of 
repentance,  and  that  they  who  are  unfit  to  live,  are  still  more 
unfit  to  die.  When  I  wrote  ''  Logan,"  after  having  seen  two 
pirates,  and  two  young  men  strangled  by  law,  in  the  midst  of  a 
noisy,  riotous  crowd  in  Baltimore,  at  noon-day,  with  the  blue 
heavens,  the  green  earth,  and  the  golden  sunshine  testifying 
against  their  dread  "  taking  off,"  I  urged  our  lawgivers,  if  they 
would  still  insist  upon  strangling  men,  women,  and  children,  to 
do  it  within  the  walls  of  a  prison,  at  midnight,  and  with  the  toll 
ing  of  a  large,  ponderous  bell,  or  the  sound  of  cannon,  like 
minute-^uns  at  sea  ;  that  murderers,  and  ravishers,  and  house 
breakers,  and  thieves,  and  highwaymen,  might  be  startled  from 
their  sleep,  and  set  a-thinkiug;  or  be  disturbed  in  their  mid 
night  revels,  or  their  unaccomplished  depredations,  as  by  a  voice 
from  the  other  world,  filling  them  with  dismay,  or  with  a  mys 
terious  unutterable  horror,  according  to  their  guilt,  in  their 
dread  loneliness  and  desolation.  As  the  law  then  stood,  the  felon 
might  as  well  have  died  in  the  heat,  and  hurry,  and  uproar  of 
battle  ;  and  the  great  multitude,  who  scarcely'  caught  their 
breath  when  the  miserable  wretches  were  turned  off;  and  felt 
relieved,  when  they  saw  how  little  they  seemed  to  suffer,  and 
for  how  short  a  time,  did  nothing,  as  I  myself  saw  once  at 
Newgate,  but  bandy  ribald  jukes  with  loose  women  along  the 
house-tops,  and  at  the  open  windows;  or  shout  and  roar,  as 
they  surged  this  way  and  that,  around  the  foot  of  the  gallows, 
in  their  admiration  of  all  who  died  ••  game,"  while  the  hang 
man  himself,  though  he  said  nothing,  looked  as  if  he  relished 
their  drolleries.  I  believe  that  the  changes  which  have  fol 
lowed,  year  aft-er  year,  both  abroad  and  at  home,  in  the  mode 
of  execution,  originated  with  my  "  Logan."  Observe :  I  do 


THE    DEATH-PENALTY,    ETC.  391 

not  claim  to  be  what  is  called  a  modest  man  ;  I  have  nearly 
overcome  the  bashtulness  that  troubled  me  in  my  youth  ;  and 
I  have  no  liking  tor  self-depreciation,  believing  that  we  are 
generally  taken,  at  least  among  strangers,  for  what  we  claim 
to  be.  I  have  known  people  who  were  awkward,  and  shy,  and, 
in  the  opinion  of  others,  modest,  with  so  good  an  opinion  of 
themselves,  that  the  good  opinion  of  others  would  not  raise  them 
:t  hair's-breadth  in  their  own  estimation  ;  but  as  I  do  in  my 
heart  believe,  that,  on  the  whole,  in  projecting  and  carrying 
out  some  of  these  reforms.  I  have  lived  to  some  purpose,  I  am 
willing  to  say  so  —  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it.  In  the 
flush  of  youth,,  in  the  generous,  heroic  enthusiasm,  and  fiery 
efflorescence  of  early  manhood,  I  suggested  many  changes  in 
law  and  usage:  most  of  which,  I  might  say  all.  have  either 
become  established,  or  like  woman-suffrage,  the  death-penalty, 
by  strangling,  and  licensed  usury,  seem  about  to  be  established 
everywhere,  while  imprisonment  for  debt,  lotteries,  and  the 
exclusion  of  parties,  or  persons  interested,  from  the  witness- 
box,  in  our  common-law  courts,  have  been  abolished  for  ever. 
Speaking  of  modest  men.  however.  I  knew  of  one  who  always 
claimed  that  General  Harrison  was  indebted  to  him  for  his 
election.  I  was  half  inclined  to  tell  him  the  truth  on  that  sub 
ject,  but  forebore.  having  no  pretensions  to  modesty  —  such 
modesty.  I  should  say  :  but  the  simple  fact  was.  that,  in  the 
Harrisburg-Convention,  I  threw  what  was  equivalent  to  a  cast 
ing  vote  in  his  favor.  It  happened  that  I  was  chairman  of  the 
Maine  committee.  According  to  the  congressional  usage, 
Maine  always  led  in  voting.  We  had  voted  again  and  again, 
I  forget  how  many  times,  for  Henry  Clay,  once  or  twice  for 
General  Scott,  who  felt  sure  of  his  election,  and  had  come  to  a 
dead-lock,  on  Webster  for  Vice-President ;  and  Reverdy  John 
son  was  making  a  capital  speech  in  the  House  above,  to 
secure  harmony,  while  we  were  badgering  the  candidates,  and 
one  another,  below.  At  last,  somebody  mentioned  to  me  the 
name  of  John  Tyler,  for  Vice-President,  instead  of  Webster, 
whom  we  could  not  possibly  elect.  ••  Will  you  vote  for 
Tyler?"  said  I,  to  Mr.  Chandler  Starr,  who  represented  the 
forty-two  votes  of  New-York.  "  Yes.  if  you  will."  —  -'  Done  !" 
said*  1  ;  and  the  next  vote  carried  iu  both  William  Henry 
Harrison,  and  Julm  Ti/ler,  for  which  I  pray  God  to  forgive 
me  !  —  so  fur,  I  mean,  as  poor  Tyler  was  concerned. 


392  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Before  I  finish  this  chapter,  allow  me  to  say  a  few  words 
upon  a  subject  I  have  hitherto  only  glanced  at.  That  I  am  a 
good  judge  of  painting,  it  were  childish  to  deny,  after  all  that 
I  have  written  upon  the  subject,  both  abroad  and  at  home: 
but  I  am  not  a  painter,  I  never  was.  and  have  no  special  gift, 
either  for  landscape  or  portraiture  ;  and  though,  if  I  had  taken 
up  the  business  early  in  life,  when  I  was  doing  Indian-ink 
portraits  —  and  the  originals  too  !  —  for  three  dollars  a  head,  I 
might,  per/taps,  have  done  something  tolerable.  The  organ  of 
form  being  about  the  average  with  me,  and  that  of  color  very 
large,  constructiveuess,  ideality,  &c.,  &c.,  to  match,  I  am  quite 
sure  that  I  never  should  have  been  able  to  satisfy  myself, 
though  I  might  have  satisfied  others,  and  my  life  would  have 
been  a  comparative  failure.  A  man  may  be  a  good  judge  of 
pictures,  just  as  he  may  be  of  a  dressing-case,  or  a  signet-ring, 
or  of  boots  and  shoes,  without  being  a  cabinet-maker,  a  jeweller, 
or  a  shoemaker.  This  I  mention  here,  because  I  have  credit 
with  people  who  do  not  know  me,  for  uncommon  talent  as  an 
artist,  like  Hazlitt,  who  wrote  books  and  copied  pictures  with 
equal  facility,  and  because  1  have  no  desire  to  pass  for  more 
than  I  am  worth,  even  at  the  discount-board.  What  I  am.  I 
acknowledge,  and  am  prepared  for  the  consequences,  however 
much  I  may  be  mistaken  about  myself,  in  the  judgment  of 
others.  Poetry  —  grand,  glorious,  and  beautiful  poetry  —  I 
have  written  heretofore,  and  may  write  again,  before  I  pass 
away  ;  and  I  do  think  —  between  ourselves  —  that  much  of  my 
prose  writing,  most  of  it,  indeed,  is  likely  to  be  read  hereafter, 
and  that,  on  the  whole,  not  a  few  of  my  story-books,  and  stories, 
and  magazine-papers,  are  well  worth  remembering  and  pre 
serving.  There !  that  will  do  for  the  present,  I  hope. 

But  before  I  finish  this,  the  last  chapter,  it  may  be  well,  for  the 
encouragement  of  other  '•  poor  devils,"  who,  not  satisfied  with 
one  pursuit  in  life,  grow  multifarious,  to  give  a  hint,  if  nothing 
more,  of  how  I  have  been  able  to  get  along,  and  provide  for  a 
large  family,  now  consisting  of  three  children,  and  three  grand 
children,  after  losing  two,  a  son,  who  had  reached  manhood, 
and  a  daughter  in  early  babyhood,  and  secure  a  comfortable 
provision  for  old  age.  I  was  never  an  idler,  never  a  spend 
thrift,  never  a  speculator.  If  one  business  wouldn't  "•  pay," 
1  took  up  another ;  but  I  never  neglected  any  business  for 


GROWTH    OF    PORTLAND.  393 

another,  and  never  changed  but  for  good  reasons.  Of  my 
writings,  and  of  my  labors,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  as  a 
drawing-muster,  a  \\ritiiiij-master.  lawyer,  lecturer,  and  teacher 
of  languages,  and  gymnastics,  (gratuitously),  and  sparring  and 
fencing.  I  have  said  enough  to  show,  that  my  faculties  have 
never  been  allowed  to  rust,  or  stagnate,  or  loiter. 

Jtin.  '2'S.  1<SO(.>.  —  We  are  now  in  sight  of  port;  \vith  deli 
cious  weather,  and  every  thing  to  make  us  mindful  of  our  duty 
to  God,  to  our  fellow-men,  and  to  ourselves. 

Portland  is  "rowing,  as  she  never  grew  before,  in  her 
palmiest  days;  the  city  is  rebuilt  and  somewhat  enlarged,  with 
half  a  do/en  public  houses,  two  of  which,  the  Falmouth,  and 
the  St.  Julians,  worthy  of  the  magnificent  future,  now  opening 
to  us.  and  all  the  oihers,  if  not  luxurious,  at  least  comfortable 
and  attractive  ;  with  a  free  Protestant  cathedral,  and  a  Catho 
lic  (alwavs  free),  and  half  a  dozen,  at  least,  of  new  and  hand 
some  churches,  a  city-hall  finished,  with  a  custom-house, 
and  a  post-office,  well  under  way  —  one  of  Vermont  marble, 
and  the  other  of  Ilallowell  gneiss,  bv  the  name  of  granite, 
and  all  worth  bragging  about  anywhere.  Add  to  this,  that 
we  have  two  great  thoroughfares  opening  to  us,  on  their  way 
to  the  Pacilir;  first,  the  '•  Portland  and  Ogdensburg  Railway," 
cleaving  the  White-Hills,  from  base  to  summit,  and  running 
along  the  side  of  an  escarpment  thousands  of  feet  high  — or  by 
some  cheaper  and  safer  route,  if  a  cheaper  and  safer  route  may 
be  found  ;  the  other,  our  ••  Portland  and  Rutland  Railroad," 
now  burning  its  wav  through  the  heart  of  New-Hampshire,  into 
the  treasure-houses  of  Vermont  ;  and  both  shaping  their  course 
to  the  trans-continental,  inter-oceanic  terminus,  with  unflinch 
ing  energy,  and  a  determination  worthy  of  the  highest  praise, 
whether  they  go  hand  in  hand,  for  a  part  of  the;way,  as  we 
hope,  or  strike  out.  each  for  itself,  in  their  generous  competi 
tion  for  a  share  in  the  business,  not  of  New-England  only,  hot 
of  this  great  Commonwealth  of  empires,  but  of  India,  China, 
and  Japan,  the  Orient,  and  the  World. 

And  now  for  finishinir  off  the  last  of  these  crowded  chapters. 
More  than  once,  in  the  progress  of  my  story.  I  have  had  occa 
sion  to  mention  mv  bachelor  uncle.  James  Neal,  the  third  son  of 
my  grandfather,  my  father  being  the  second.  He  was  quite  a, 
character  in  his  wav,  a  sort  of  a  burlv  Quaker  humorist,  adher- 


394  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ing  to  the  Quaker  forms  of  worship,  and  wearing  the  Quaker 
garb,  till  within  a  few  years  of  his  death,  although  he  did  not 
use  the  '*  plain  language."  A  man  of  sober  judgment,  uncom 
mon  strength  of  mind,  and  extraordinary  foresight,  he  became, 
long  before  my  return  to  Portland,  one  of  our  substantial  prop 
erty-holders. 

I  had  always  been  a  favorite  with  him,  partly  because  he 
boarded  with  my  father,  at  the  time  when  my  sister  and 
myself,  twins,  made  our  "  first  appearance  ;  "  and  he  had  charge 
of  our  infancy  after  my  fathers  death.  He  had  been  exceed 
ingly  proud  of  my  father ;  and  I  think  he  was  proud  of  me, 
from  the  first,  although  he  never  said  as  much  to  anybody, 
and  especially  after  the  death  of  the  last  male  nephew  he  had, 
of  the  name. 

More  than  once  he  offered  me  help  in  my  business,  both  at 
Boston  and  Baltimore  ;  but  I  always  declined,  except  on  one 
occasion,  where  I  had  to  give  an  "  approved  endorsed  note  " 
for  goods  at  auction.  After  my  failure  in  Baltimore,  when  he 
found  me  determined  to  enter  upon  the  study  of  law,  he 
renewed  his  friendly  offers ;  but  I  still  refused,  being  deter 
mined  to  "cut  my  own  fodder,"  come  what  might. 

On  getting  back  to  my  native  town,  my  reception  at  first 
was  rather  disheartening.  He  had  got  some  notions  into  his 
head,  not  much  to  my  advantage,  I  fear,  though  he  never  told 
me  so ;  but  I  could  see  it  in  his  manner.  Always  rather 
surly,  but  robust,  generous,  and  sincere,  he  had  the  kindness 
to  tell  me  one  day  that  he  had  no  advice  to  give,  when  I  con 
sulted  him,  out  of  respect',  and  for  no  other  reason  whatever, 
about  the  expediency  of  my  settling  down  —  settling  on  my 
lees,  I  might  as  well  say  —  in  Portland  ;  my  poor  mother  and 
sister  having  always  been  hoping  that  I  would  "fetch  up" 
here,  at  last,  and  being  very  anxious  —  very —  that  I  should  ask 
«  Uncle  Neal." 

"  When  I  ask  your  advice  again,"  said  I,  "  I  rather  guess 
you'll  give  it ;  "  and  then  I  left  the  room.  He  followed  me  up, 
and  there  betrayed  his  liking  for  me,  by  a  kindness  of  manner 
I  had  never  seen  before,  and  by  almost  apologizing.  Not  long 
after  this,  when  the  city  was  all  astir  about  me,  somebody  said 
in  his  presence,  that  1  would  not  be  allowed  to  stay  here,  that, 
in  short,  I  should  be  driven  away.  Whereupon,  he  growled  out, 


JAM1CS    NEAL.  395 

although  I  never  heard  of  it.  until  long  afterward,  when  I  had 
fought  my  o\vn  way  up  to  the  position  I  liave  since  occupied, 
"  that  they'd  have  to  drive  him  away,  first/' 

Years  after  this,  when  the  uproar  had  all  died  away,  and  I 
was  married,  with  two  children,  the  youngest  of  whom  was 
named  for  him — and  enjoying  all  the  consideration  he  could 
desire  —  having  been  domesticated  and  become  reasonable,  for 
which,  by  the  way.  my  wife  got  all  the  credit  with  my  best 
friends,  and  by  those,  who.  like  Mr.  Pierpont.  had  longest  known 
me  —  he  had  some  papers  in  his  possession  belonging  to  my 
mother.  One  day.  on  meeting  me  in  the  street,  he  told  me  to 
come  and  get  those  papers.  1  went,  and  after  knocking  at  the 
door,  and  receiving  no  answer,  I  opened  it  a  little  way.  and 
looked  in,  supposing  he  might  be  asleep.  lie  was  not  there  ; 
but  upon  the  table  I  saw  a  iile  of  papers,  which  1  recognized 
instantly  for  those  belonging  to  my  mother,  that  he  had  carried 
off  two  or  three  months  before.  I  took  them  up  —  then  replaced 
them  —  when  my  eye  was  attracted  bv  something  written 
on  the  outside  wrapper.  The  words  were  :  "  JoJin  is  my  heir" 
AY  hat  was  to  be  done  ?  I  now  remembered  that  he  had  told 
me  I  should  find  them  on  his  table,  if  he  was  not  there.  Of 
course,  he  meant  to  apprise  me  of  what  he  intended,  without 
cominLT  to  a  personal  explanation.  I  took  the  papers,  and 
showed  the  envelope  to  my  wile,  and  to  her  father,  but  to 
nobody  else,  until  after  my  uncle's  death.  I  should  mention 
here,  however,  in  further  illustration  of  his  odd  way  of  doing 
business,  that,  soon  after  my  marriage,  he  brought  a  deed  to  me 
of  a  double  tenement-house,  with  all  the  notes  made  out.  and  a 
mortgage,  to  secure  the  payment,  in  twelve  years,  at  the  rate 
of  three  hundred  dollars  a  year,  without  interest.  This  was  a 
way  he  had  of  making  me  a  handsome  present,  without  ap 
pearing  to  do  so,  and  keeping  me  straight,  He  had  never 
consulted  me,  nor  ever  mentioned  the  subject,  and  complained 
a  little,  that  I  had  taken  a  large  handsome  house,  one  of  the 
best  we  had  then,  without  consulting  him  !  He  had  forgotten 
our  little  till'.  However,  I  could  rent  my  new  purchase  he 
said,  till  my  lease  expired  ;  and  1  did  so.  though  we  never 
occupied  it  for  a  single  day.  neither  part  being  empty  at  the 
riirht  time.  The  property  would  have  been  a  good  bargain  at 
five  thousand  dollars  ;  but  he  had  taken  it  lor  a  debt,  and 


396  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

made  some  alterations  —  and  suggested  others,  which  Host  no 
time  in  making  —  and  felt  relieved.  I  dare  say,  when  I  took  it 
off  his  hands,  with  a  *•  thank  you,  uncle,"  for  that  was  all  I  said, 
or  did.  Being  a  man  of  few  words  himself,  I  was  not  willing 
to  be  obtrusive. 

Within  two  years  after  this,  he  died  of  apoplexy,  at  the  age 
of  sixty-four,  without  notice  or  preparation  ;  but  when  his 
brother  Stephen,  who  lived  in  Elliot,  came  down  to  the 
funeral,  he  told  us  that  we  should  find  a  will ;  that  he  had 
been  sent  for  by  "  brother  James,"  not  long  before,  two  or 
three  months,  perhaps,  when  he  consulted  him  about  a  will, 
saying  that  I  was  to  be  his  heir,  and  entering  upon  a  little 
bank-book,  the  legacies  he  intended  for  others  ;  all  which  were 
in  the  form  of  annuities,  with  a  relinquishment  of  all  debts 
due  from  the  legatees.  That  book  we  found,  but  no  will.  In 
it,  lie  had  given  to  his  brother  Stephen  three  hundred  dollars 
a  year  during  life,  and  "  all  he  owed,"  being  about  a  thousand 
dollars,  lent  him  to  help  buy  the  family  homestead.  His  two 
nieces,  my  sister  and  another,  were  to  receive  three  hundred 
a  year  each,  during  life,  and  a  nephew  he  was  not  on  good 
terms  with,  the  same ;  while  I  was  to  have  —  blank  —  and 
"  all  I  owed  ;  "  amounting  at  the  time  to  about  three  thousand 
dollars.  It  was  evident  enough  that  he  had  intended  to  make 
a  will,  not  only  from  what  he  said  to  his  brother,  but  from  all 
the  circumstances ;  and  he  was  probably  arranging  the  matter 
in  his  own  mind,  after  having  made  the  memoranda  I  have 
mentioned,  when  he  was  taken  off  so  suddenly,  that  he  could 
not  finish  the  business.  Only  a  little  time  before,  while  trot 
ting  the  baby,  who  had  been  named  for  him.  he  said  to  my 
wife's  mother,  l"  This  little  fellow  is  to  be  my  heir." 

After  the  funeral  was  over,  my  good  Uncle  Stephen,  then 
in  his  seventieth  year,  insisted  on  making  a  will,  and  wanted 
me  to  put  it  into  shape  ;  saying  that  he  knew  the  intentions 
of  his  brother,  who  had  talked  freely  with  him  on  the  subject, 
the  fall  before,  and  that  he  desired  to  carry  out  those  inten 
tions  to  the  very  letter.  I  remonstrated ;  saying  the  inher 
itance  had  been  cast  upon  him  by  the  act  of  God,  and  ought 
to  take  the  channel  prescribed  by  law.  He  persisted,  and  I 
still  refused;  urging  him  to  send  for  Mr.  Longfellow,  or  Gen 
eral  Fessenden.  to  draw  the  will.  "  Why,  John,"  said  he, 


THE    AVILL-CASE.  397 

"  thee  knows  there's  no  male  of  our  name  left :  thy  sister  is 
unmarried,  and  Lydia  [his  only  daughter],  though  married, 
has  never  had.  and  never  will  have  a  child,"  giving  the  rea 
sons  :  "and  the  whole  estate  would  go  to  strangers  at  her 
death."  At  last.  I  consented,  upon  the  condition  that  Lydia, 
and  Oliver,  her  husband,  should  be  consulted,  and  be  hand- 
somelv  provided  for.  during  lite,  and  her  husband,  if  he  sur 
vived  her:  and  that  "Aunt  Ruth."  her  own  mother  —  not  her 
step-mother.  a<  the  public  believed — her  father  never  havin<r 
been  married  but  once,  should  be  put  bevond  the  reach  of 
accident:  and  then  drew  the  will,  substantially,  as  follows: 
After  a  few  trifling  legacies,  and  ample  provision  for  the 
widow,  during  life,  the  whole  estate  was  to  go  to  the  daughter, 
and  if  she  died  without  issue,  then  to  me  and  my  heirs,  Oliver 
being  well  provided  for.  To  guard  against  misrepresentation, 
I  persuaded  him  to  appoint  Lydia  s  Itusband  co-executor  with 
>//>',-  a  ml  then  I  left  the  instrument  in  that  husband's  possession. 
That  will  I  have  never  seen  but  once,  from  that  dav  to  this  ; 
and  then  I  called  for  it  on  a  trial  in  court,  and  obliged  the 
parties  to  produce  it.  much  to  their  consternation  ;  tor  they 
had  overlooked  the  joint  executorship.  which,  of  itself,  was 
conclusive  to  show  the  falsehood  of  certain  reports  they  had 
put  in  circulation,  to  say  nothing  of  the  singular  fact  that  the 
will  was  found.  n«t  in  my  possession,  but  in  Dennett's. 

After  a  few  months,  my  good  uncle,  who  had  removed  from 
the  next  house  to  ours,  into  a  distant  part  of  the  city,  finding 
the  collection  of  his  rents,  dividends.  &c.,  very  troublesome, 
consulted  with  me  about  employing  for  his  agent,  Mr.  Xeal 
Dow.  a  near  neighbor  of  his  at  the  time.  I  advised  him  to 
do  so.  by  all  means.  Not  long  after  this,  Dennett  called  on 
me,  and,  afier  declaring  that  "  Aunt  Ruth "  was  worrying 
4>  father's"  life  out.  giving  him  no  rest,  by  night  or  day,  for 
money  to  send  her  only  brother,  David  Green,  wished  me  to 
have  Uncle  Stephen  put  under  guardianship,  at  his  own 
request,  that  he  might  live  in  peace,  and  be  rid  for  ever  of 
such  importunity. 

I  promised  to  look  into  the  matter,  and  was  preparing  to 
see  Uncle  Stephen,  when  Samuel  F.  Hussey,  an  aged  Friend, 
called  on  the  same  errand;  and  when  I  hesitated,  though 
willing  enough  to  do  it  for  the  sake  of  cousin  Lydia  and 


398  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Oliver,  having  no  favors  to  ask  for  myself,  he  said,  "John, 
docs  thee  want  thy  aunt  to  kill  thy  uncle?''  Whereupon,  I 
consented  to  take  the  preliminary  steps,  by  seeing  Uncle 
Stephen,  who  said,  "Why,  cousin,''' — he  sometimes  called 
me  "  cousin  "  —  "  what,  after  all,  is  a  guardian,  but  an  attorney 
who  gives  bonds  ?  I  am  very  lame,  as  thee  knows ;  my  sight 
is  poor ;  I  cannot  see  well,  even  with  spectacles ;  and  my  fin 
gers  are  too  stiff  and  clumsy  for  writing  or  counting  money." 
He  had  been,  for  a  long  time,  a  ''hot-crop"  doctor,  of  the 
Thompson ian  school,  and  used  to  take  the  preparation  him 
self,  by  teaspoonfuls,  in  the  coldest  weather:  it  was  like  noth 
ing  I  ever  tasted,  in  a  liquid  shape,  or  ever  heard  of;  being  a 
decoction  or  tincture  of  cayenne  pepper,  can thar ides,  or  in 
candescent  lava.  lie  had  quite  a  reputation,  and  a  large, 
though  I  am  afraid  not  a  very  profitable,  practice.  I  yielded, 
at  last,  but  left  Mr.  Hussey.  a  rough,  obstinate  old  man,  to 
make  the  application.  3Ir.  Dow  was  appointed  guardian  at 
Uncle  Stephen's  written  request,  after  the  mayor  and  alder 
men  of  the  city  had  examined  a  few  witnesses. 

Within  five  months  after  this,  Dow  called  on  me,  and  stated 
that  his  charge  had  greatly  improved  in  health,  having  boarded 
with  him,  and  no  more  needed  a  guardian  than  Dow's  own 
father,  Josiah  Dow,  who  managed  his  own  business  without 
help,  though  many  years  older  than  Stephen  Xeal.  I  told 
him  to  see  our  Probate-Judge,  and  be  governed  by  his  advice. 
After  a  brief  examination,  the  guardian  was  discharged,  and 
my  good  uncle  was  set  free ;  and  then  a  Quaker-committee, 
consisting  of  Hussey  and  "others,  beset  him,  and  after  obtain 
ing  conveyances  from  him  to  Dennett  and  wife,  executed  in 
their  presence,  and  at  their  solicitation,  to  the  amount  of  ten 
thousand  dollars,  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  will  in  favor  of  the 
Society;  constituting  it  a  residuary  legatee,  and  giving  it  all 
that  remained,  after  the  legacies  were  paid  off:  and  then,  lest 
he  might  change  his  mind,  they  made  no  less  than  three 
several  attempts  to  put  him  under  guardianship  again  ;  two 
of  which  utterly  failed,  the  mayor  and  aldermen  certifying 
that  he  was  compos,  while  the  third,  being  at  the  time  of  his 
last  sickness,  and  after  he  began  to  break  up.  \va>  allowed  to 
prevail,  without  objection.  Alter  this,  I  had  nothing  more  to 
do  with  my  uncle's  business ;  but  being  at  Boston,  in  the  fall 


NKAL    DOW    AND    THE    WILL-CASE.  399 

of  1835.  on  a  lecturing  trip.  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Neal  I)o\v.  saying  that  inv  uncle  had  destroyed  the  Quaker- 
will,  which  I  had  never  seen,  because  the  Quakers  had  turned 
"  Aunt  Ruth  "  and  his  father.  Josiah  Dow,  out  of  meeting, 
and  that  he  had  just  made  a  will  in  my  favor;  that  he  (Mr. 
Xeal  Dow)  "should  charge  me  like  a  lawyer."  for  what  he  had 
done,  without  consulting  me.  and  without  my  knowledge  ;  and 
that  "  Uncle  Stephen  hoped  I  would  soon  be  back,  for  he 
wanted  to  see  me."  1  returned,  without  hurrying,  and  called 
on  my  «_rood  uncle.  I  did  not  see  the  will,  nor  ask  to  see  it. 
He  spoke  freely  about  the  proceedings  of  Ilussey  and  the 
Quaker-committee,  and  said  they  had  managed  to  strip  him  of 
the  lamer  part  of  his  property,  including  all  his  cash  and 
notes,  for  the  benetit  of  Lydia.  who  would  never  be  satisfied 
till  she  had  every  thing,  and  then  took  the  rest  to  themselves, 
and  turned  his  wife,  and  his  old  friend,  Josiah  Dow,  "out  of 
meeting,'"  for  refusing  to  co-operate  with  them  in  their 
schemes. 

Within  a  few  days  after  this.  Mr.  Neal  Dow  called  on  me 
with  deeds  of  all  my  uncle's  estate  and  mortgages  of  the 
same,  prepared  by  himself,  and  this,  too,  without  my  knowl 
edge  or  consent,  saying,  that,  alter  a  thorough  sitting  of  the 
old  gentleman's  affairs,  it  had  been  found  that  he  could  not 
live  on  his  diminished  income,  and  that  he  had,  therefore,  pro 
posed  the  following  plan  :  my  uncle  to  convey  to  me  all  his 
real  estate,  in  fee.  together  with  a  twenty-five-hundred-dollar 
note  he  held  for  certain  land  in  dispute,  the  title  to  which  has 
just  been  decided,  after  twenty  years'  litigation  :  he  to  receive 
all  the  rents  and  profits  during  life,  and  I  to  secure  to  him 
annuities  of  equal  amount,  and  to  his  wife  another  annuity, 
if  she  survived  him  ;  provided,  nevertheless,  that  all  the 
property  so  conveyed  should  continue  subject  to  the  wants  of 
both  husband  and  wife,  even  though  it  should  all  be  used  up. 
The  proposition  was  absurd  in  itself,  and  any  man  \\lio  would 
accept  such  an  offer  ought  to  be  put  under  guardianship,  as  I 
told  Mr.  Dow  at  the  time.  Nevertheless,  if  he  ai.d  others 
thought  my  good  uncle  would  be  left  in  peace,  I  would  accept 
the  offer,  and  not  only  mortgage  back  all  the  property  so  con 
veyed  to  me.  but  give  him  a  mortgage  on  other  property, 
worth  twenty,  or  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  to  secure  the 


400  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

annuities;  which  I  did  forthwith.  At  last,  in  December, 
1836.  my  poor  uncle  dies,  in  comparative  peace,  and  the  will 
in  my  favor  is  offered  for  Probate  :  General  Fessenden  rep 
resenting  the  daughter,  and  opposing  the  will  upon  three 
different  grounds.  First,  fraud,  by  insinuation  only  ;  second, 
undue  influence:  that  of  Aunt  Ruth,  Neal  Dow.  or  myself; 
though  it  was  clearly  proved  that  I  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  any  of  the  wills,  except  the  first,  which  I  had  left 
with  Dennett,  the  son-in-law,  as  co-executor;  and  third,  in 
sanity,  or  unsoundness  of  mind.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that 
I  felt  justified  in  telling  General  Fessenden,  the  father,  in 
open  court,  that  he  would  say  any  thing  for  a  fee,  and  swear 
to  it,  for  another.  The  will  was  approved,  pro  forma ;  and 
then  began  a  series  of  trials-at-law,  which  continued  from 
1837  to  1858  —  twenty-one  years  —  the  will  being  set  aside 
by  consent,  after  three  trials,  one  of  which  lasted  sev 
eral  weeks ;  while  a  conveyance,  made  at  the  same  time,  and 
under  the  same  circumstances,  by  Stephen  Neal,  on  the 
legality  of  which,  property  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars,  at  least,  depended,  was  finally  established ;  in 
other  words,  it  was  decided,  that,  while  competent  to  sell  and 
convey  real  estate,  he  was  not  competent  to  make  a  will !  So 
much  for  lawyers,  and  so  much  for  jurors !  And  all  this  at  a 
cost,  exceeding,  I  dare  say,  the  original  worth  of  the  property 
bequeathed. 

During  this  protracted  and  exasperating  controversy,  Mr. 
Dow  was  a  witness  for  the  will ;  and,  if  the  jury  had  believed 
him,  under  oath,  even  when  lie  told  ihe  truth,  it  would  have 
been  established.  But.  in  the  course  of  investigation,  it  came 
out  that  he  had  received  a  conveyance  of  stock  to  his  child, 
from  Stephen  Neal,  of  which  I  had  never  heard  a  lisp,  and 
that  the  addition  to  his  house,  which  he  had  built  for  the  com 
fort  of  his  ward  only,  and  for  which  he  had  been  allowed,  on 
settlement  with  his  ward,  had  been  occupied  by  the  ward  but 
a  few  months;  three  or  four,  at  most.  Jhese  facts,  undoubt 
edly,  had,  as  they  ought  to  have  had,  no  little  influence  with 
the  jury,  in  weighing  the  testimony  of  Dow  ;  so  that  I  lost  the 
whole  estate,  in  consequence  of  that  man's  grasping  disposi 
tion,  craft,  and  cunning.  And  this,  too,  I  am  ready  to  forgive, 
on  scriptural  terms. 


NKAL    DOW    AND    THE    WILL-CASE.  401 

It  was  during  the  progress  of  these  trials,  that  much  of 
what  I  have  already  narrated,  took  place  ;  but  our  quarrel 
happened  long  utter  the  will  was  set  aside  l>y  consent,  when, 
owing  to  tlnj  merest  accident,  I  discovered  how  lon^  he  had 
l>een  abusing  inv  confidence,  and  making  use  of  me  for  the 
promotion  of  his  own  private  views,  and  secretly  slandering 
both  me  und  mine,  while  pretending  the  greatest  admiration, 
deference,  and  friendship.  But  there  were  other  incidents, 
which  I  have  not  yet  alluded  to.  One  day.  our  late  mayor. 
Lev!  Cutter,  called  on  me  to  say  that  we  were  to  have  a  mob 
at  the  Quaker  meeting-house,  and  he  wanted  me  to  be  there. 
I  had  been  always  known  for  a  colonizationist :  I  had  met 
with  Lundv.  at  Baltimore,  and  rescued  a  woman-slave  there 
at  noon-da}',  in  the  public  streets,  who  obtained  her  freedom, 
after  legal  inquiry  ;  and  with  Garrison,  while  lie  was  editing 
a  paper,  .somewhere,  in  Vermont,  called  the  "  Philanthropist," 
I  had  corresponded,  so  far.  at  least,  that  when  he  threatened  to 
do  something  —  what,  he  knew  not.  like  Lear  —  to  make  him 
self  famous,  and  said  I  might  be  <jlud  to  write  his  biography, 
or  epitaph,  some  day.  1  forget  which.  I  answered  that  1  would 
do  so  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  I  cared  not  how  soon. 
On  referring  to  the  "  Yankee."  I  iind  the  language  to  be  as 
follows.  Under  date  of  Aug.  1.3,  1828,  he  savs.  while  the 
feathers  were  flying.  "  If  my  life  be  spared,  my  name  shall 
one  dav  be  known  so  extensively  as  to  render  inquiry  unneces 
sary,  and  known,  too.  in  a  favorable  manner.  J  speak  in  the 
spirit  of  prophecy,  not  of  vain  glory."  Bravely  spoken,  was 
it  not  ?  And  then.  too.  how  well  he  has  kept  the  promise  ! 
I  had  also  met  him  at  Friend  Hussev's,  where  we  had  a  brief, 
though  somewhat  noisy  discussion,  all  the  women  being  with 
him  ;  and  where,  after  expressing  a  desire  to  meet  me  in  pub 
lic,  I  had  answered,  "  With  all  mv  heart,  whenever  and 
wherever  you  please."  —  "  Ah.  but  you  will  have  the  advan 
tage  of  me.  You  are  accustomed  to  extemporaneous  speaking; 
and  I,  to  writing,  only."  —  '•  Very  well,"  said  I,  '•  you  may 
write  your  speech,  and  I  will  answer  it,  on  the  spot,  wherever 
you  muv  be  ;  you  giving  me  one  hour's  notice  of  the  meet 
ing."  To  this  he  agreed,  and  here  we  parted  :  but.  soon 
after,  as  I  happened  to  be  going  through  New-York,  with  my 
wife,  on  our  way  to  the  Western  country,  and  thence  to 


402  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

Europe,  in  1834.  or  1835,  I  should  say,  I  found  myself  one 
day  in  the  Courier-and-fnquirer  office,  where,  by  the  way,  I 
first  met  with  Mr.  Bennett,  who  had  just  been  secured  for 
that  paper,  and  was  there  introduced  to  me  by  Colonel  Webb, 
I  was  informed  that  a  meeting  was  called  in  the  Park,  by 
William  Lloyd  Garrison,  for  that  very  evening.  After  some 
talk,  I  consented  to  take  a  hand.  It  was  arranged  that  we 
should  all  <ro  to  the  meeting,  and  adjourn  to  Old  Tammany, 
and  that  there,  I  should  offer  a  resolution,  which  was  to  be 
seconded  by  Mr.  Graham,  afterward  postmaster.  We  went, 
took  possession  of  the  meeting,  and  adjourned  to  Tammany ; 
and  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  crowding  my  way  up  to 
the  platform,  all  out  of  breath,  choked  with  dust,  and  steam 
ing  with  perspiration,  where  I  called  for  Mr.  Garrison,  or 
any  of  his  friends,  to  appear ;  promising  them  safe  conduct 
and  fair  play.  But  nobody  answered.  I  made  a  short  speech : 
Graham  backed  out ;  and  the  resolutions  were  passed 
with  a  roar,  like  that  you  may  sometimes  hear  in  the  Bay  of 
Fundv.  On  my  way  out,  I  was  completely  surrounded,  lifted 
off  my  feet,  and  carried  by  storm  into  a  cellar,  and,  by  the 
time  we  were  seated  at  the  table,  out  sprang  halt  a  score  of 
bowie-knives,  and  as  many  pistols  ;  and  at  least  a  dozen  cards 
were  handed  me,  with  "'  Alabama."  "  Georgia,"  and  "  South- 
Carolina,"  under  the  names.  They  had  proposed,  a  few  min 
utes  before,  to  go  after  Garrison,  to  some  church,  where  they 
were  told  he  was  to  be  found  ;  and  went  so  far  as  to  say.  that, 
when  I  called  for  him.  if  he  had  appeared  on  the  platform, 
they  would  have  "rowed 'him  up  salt  river."  And  then  they 
asked  me  if  I  had  not  seen  their  hand-bill.  I  had  not,  nor 
heard  it  mentioned;  but  it  seems  that  in  the  afternoon,  they 
had  issued  a  poster,  calling  upon  the  "men  of  the  South," 
to  be  present  at  the  meeting,  which  WMS  to  take  place  in  the 
Park.  I  told  them  what  would  have  been  the  consequences, 
if  they  had  meddled  with  Garrison  where  I  was  ;  for  we  were 
banded  together.  Colonel  Webb,  Mr.  Graham,  and  perhaps 
twenty  more,  with  a  determination  to  see  fair-play,  at  the  risk 
of  our  lives  ;  taking  it  for  granted  that  free  discussion  could 
do  the  cause  of  truth  no  harm.  To  this,  my  new  Southern 
friends  assented,  at  last,  and  gave  up  the  idea  of  tearing  down 
a  church,  because  a  hunted  man  had  found  shelter  with  the 
women  there ;  and  we  parted  in  peace. 


MOB    AT    PORTLAND.  4Q3 

I  had  also  a  discussion  with  the  whole  bodv  of  abolitionists 
here  in  Portland  —  the  abolitionists  proper,  the  Garrisonians, 
I  mean  :  for  I  was.  at  the  time,  and  always  had  been,  opposed 
to  slavery,  though  I  did  not  then  believe  in  "  immediate,  un 
conditional,  and  unirersal  emancipation  "  —  which  continued 
clay  afrvr  day.  for  about  a  week,  where  I  stood  alone,  against 
a  number  of  tne  small  fry,  and  a  swarm  of  pollywogs,  just 
readv  for  transformation,  headed  by  General  Fessenden  ;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  meeting  had  succeeded  in  organizing 
a  Colonization-Society,  and  taken  their  subscriptions;  and 
pitiful  enough  they  were:  so  pitiful,  indeed,  that,  after  trying 
to  collect  a  portion.  I  took  them  all  upon  mv  own  hands,  and 
paid  over  the  amount  to  Mr.  Gould,  the  cashier:  something 
over  a  hundred  dollars,  if  I  do  not  mistake.  Yet  more.  I 
had  taken  President  Koberts.  then  on  his  way  to  Liberia,  into 
mv  house,  and  treated  him  as  tin:1  Prince  Regent  treated 
Prince  Saunders,  to  the  unspeakable  amazement  of  our 
abolitionist  brethren. 

When  I  was  notified,  therefore,  that  a  mob  was  threatened 
to  put  down  a  gathering  of  abolitionists,  at  the  Quaker  meeting 
house.  I  determined  to  help  in  putting  down  the  mob,  or  take 
the  consequences.  Before  I  left  my  house.  Mr.  Dow  called 
upon  me  to  say.  that  he  should  be  there  with  his  whole  engine 
company,  and  asked  if  I  was  not  going  armed.  "  Yes."  I  said, 
'•armed  with  a  cloak  and  lantern.  Let  us  take  our  light  with 
us,  spring  it  upon  them  by  surprise,  and  we  shall  need 
no  other  arms.  If  we  can  but  see  their  faces,  they  will 
be  afraid  to  begin."  And  we  found  it  so.  I  stood  in  the 
doorway,  till  the  meeting  was  over;  and  although  a  dead  cat 
was  thrown  at  me.  and  there  was  no  little  pushing,  till  I  told 
them  to  close  the  door  behind  me.  and  keep  it  closed,  while  I 
stood  outside  on  the  stone-steps,  no  violence  was  ottered,  till 
after  I  had  entered  the  house,  hat  in  hand,  and  told  General 
Fessenden,  if  he  would  follow  me.  and  let  the  women  follow 
him.  I  would  be  answerable  for  their  safetv.  though  the  street 
was  black  with  a  portentous,  muttering  crowd  at  the  time. 
Soon  after  we  started,  however.  I  was  told,  though  I  did  not 
see  it.  nor  hear  any  thing  of  it  until  the  next  dav.  that  Mr. 
Dow's  chief-engineer  had  throttled  a  fellow  named  Capen, 
and  carried  him  oif,  while  Dow  wa.s  shouting.  "  No.  5,  to  the 


404  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

rescue ! "  and  that  a  Mr.  Nathan  Winslow,  a  desperate, 
unrelenting  Quaker-abolitionist,  who.  like  Garrison,  was  clam 
oring  for  "•immediate,  universal,  and  unconditional  emancipa 
tion."  had  stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  at  one  time,  saying  that 
lie  didn't  want  any  of  my  protection,  he  could  take  care  of 
himself;  but,  while  he  was  yet  speaking,  and  before  the  words 
were  well  out  of  his  mouth,  he  was  pitched  headlong  into  the 
gutter,  and  rolled  over  in  the  mud,  and  then  allowed  to  escape; 
while  I  went  on  my  way,  until  I  had  reached  Morton's  Row, 
where  I  found  another  black,  muttering  crowd  assembled 
about  the  store,  next  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Longfellow.  On 
asking  what  had  happened,  I  was  told  that  they  had  got  a  boy 
in  there,  and  that  they,  the  rioters,  meant  to  have  him  out. 
44  Close  the  windows  and  doors  !  "  I  shouted.  —  "  Won't  you 
come  in?"  —  "No:  but  close  up!  close  up!  and  leave  me 
here ;  I  can  take  care  of  myself."  They  did  so ;  and  the 
next  moment,  my  lantern  having  been  put  out.  I  received 
a  push,  and  then  a  blow  on  my  leg,  as  from  the  foot  of  a 
strong  man  :  whereat  I  called  for  the  sneaking  cowards  to 
show  themselves,  promising  to  thrash  as  many  as  could  stand 
before  me,  if  they  would  not  cling  to  my  legs,  nor  get  on  my 
back.  This  appeared  to  satisfy  them  that  I  was  in  earnest, 
anil  I  was  left  in  peace. 

But,  speaking  of  mobs  and  riots,  although  I  have  had  no 
large  experience  in  that  way,  I  must  not  forget  to  mention 
that  which  was  called  the  Astor-Place  riot,  in  1858, 1  believe, 
not  the  Astor-House  mob,  as  I  once  gave  it  in  "  True  Woman 
hood,"  through  sheer  carelessness.  Happening  to  be  in  New- 
York,  at  the  time  of  Macreadv's  re-appearance,  after  the  pas 
de  mo'tchoir,  in  his  representation  of  Hamlet,  which  provoked 
Forrest  to  hiss  him,  (at  Glasgow,  was  it  not?)  and  wanting 
my  daughter  to  see  him.  I  made  up  a  little  party  for  his  Mac 
beth,  or  Virginias,  I  forget  which,  nor  is  it  material,  two  of 
his  finest  impersonations.  Before  the  hour  arrived,  we  had 
several  hints  that  mischief  was  brewing.  Nevertheless,  we 
determined  to  take  our  chance.  On  our  arrival,  the  first  thing 
that  struck  me  unpleasantly,  as  "a  note  of  preparation."  was 
th<j  crowded  pit,  black  and  portentous,  and  the  scarcity  of 
women,  both  above  and  below.  Macready  appeared,  and,  al 
though  a  woman  occupied  the  stage  with  him,  the  outcries 


ASTOR-PLACE    RIOT.  4Q5 

and  shouting  and  screaming  and  cat-calls  were  tremendous. 
For  halt'  an  hour,  not  a  sentence  could  he  heard  in  our  box, 
though  we  were  very  near  the  stage.  At  last,  while  they 
were  shying  pennies  from  the  gallery,  a  large  English  two 
penny-piece,  intended  for  the  stage,  fell  into  our  box,  passing 
near  the  head  of  my  daughter.  I  rose  up  and  remonstrated. 
"Three  cheers  for  Forrest!"  was  the  answer.  Then  came  a 
heavy  chair,  which  went  whirling  by  us.  and  struck  the  sta^e, 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  players,  and  was  broken  to  fragment-. 
Upon  this.  I  stepped  on  the  outside  of  the  box,  and  sto  »  I 
up,  and  called  them  a  set  of  cowardly  miscreants,  to  be  guilty 
of  such  violence;  toward  women.  "  Let  us  pray  I  "  was  the 
answer:  probably  mistaking  me  for  a  clergyman,  as  I  wore 
black,  and  my  coat  was  buttoned  up  to  the  chin.  At  this,  I 
turned  to  go.  saying  that  I  should  return  after  the  ladies  were 
in  safety.  u  No.  you  won  t,"  said  they;  "you'll  never  come 
back!"  and  then  followed  another  explosion  of  laughter,  and 
a  roar,  like  that  of  a  whole  menagerie.  "There  you  go! 
Good-bye  !  "  Having  disposed  of  my  daughter  and  her  friends, 
I  came  back,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  taking  my  first 
position,  on  the  outside  of  the  box,  when  young  Mr.  Tal- 
madge.  son  of  the  recorder,  and  somebody  else  with  him,  tried 
to  prevent  me  ;  saying,  that,  as  I  was  a  stranger,  I  could  have 
no  idea  of  a  New-York  mob  ;  they  would  swarm  up  from  the 
pit,  and  clear  the  boxes.  "  I  will  answer  for  my  box,"  said 
I, "'  if  thev  should  try  to  carry  it  by  assault.  Up  here  I  have 
a  great  advantage,  you  see."  —  "Lookout!"  was  the  reply; 
u  for  these  fellows  are  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  would  shoot 
you  from  below.  Beside,  we  have  been  assured,  by  Mr. 

's    coachman,    that    the    Empire-Club    is    here,    in    full 

strength,  and  all  armed."  But  no  !  I  would  not  listen  to  their 
suggestions  ;  and.  after  begging  them  to  see  that  the  ruffians 
did  not  get  iu  my  rear,  I  stepped  upon  the  outer  edge  of  the 
box,  swung  my  hat,  and  called  out,  "  Three  cheers  fcr 
Macready  !  "  for  whom,  by  the  way.  I  cared  not  a  snap,  save 
that,  being  a  stranger,  while  Mr.  Forrest  was  at.  home,  with 
the  Bowery-boys,  I  wanted  him  to  have  fair  play.  Upon 
this,  the  whole  audience  seemed  to  spring  to  their  feet:  the 
women  all  rose  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs:  and  so  large 
a  portion  of  pit,  gallery,  and  boxes,  that  I  was  quite  aston- 


406  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

ished,  and  called  upon  the.  rioters  to  try  their  "  Three  cheers 
for  Forrest"  once  more.  They  accepted  the  challenge,  and 
the  shouting  that  followed  was  so  feeble,  after  the  first  out 
break,  and  so  scattering,  that  I  could  not  forbear  laughing  at 
them  ;  asking  how  they  felt  noiv,  and  whether,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  were  not  ashamed  of  themselves  ?  They  seemed 
to  take  what  I  said  in  very  good  part ;  for  I  heard  laughing 
above,  and  below,  and  all  about  me ;  but  just  then,  as  J  was 
told  the  next  day,  though  I  knew  nothing  of  it  at  the  time, 
the  leader  of  the  mob.  and  the  foremost  of  the  Empire-Club, 
Isaiah  Itvnders,  Esquire,  struck  Mr.  Hiram  Fuller,  the  editor, 
a  heavy  blow  in  the  face,  just  outside  of  the  entrance  to  our 
box,  which  I  had  asked  them  to  take  charge  of,  lest  the  black 
guards  should  get  into  my  rear.  Nothing  serious  happened 
after  this,  and  the  next  day  I  returned  to  Portland,  where  I 
first  heard  of  the  terrible  riot  which  followed  the  next  eve 
ning,  when  Mr.  Recorder  Talmadge  took  the  matter  up,  and 
"  sarved  the  rioters  out,"  after  a  fashion  to  be  remembered,  and 
followed,  in  similar  cases. 

But  to  return  :  I  had  a  revelation  of  Mr.  Dow's  character 
that  evening,  which  I  never  thought  of,  until  long  after  he  had 
made  himself  so  conspicuous  in  the  cause  of  temperance.  While 
arranging  a  course  of  procedure  before  the  attack,  he  said  he 
felt  more  than  half  inclined  to  take  up  with  the  abolitionists ; 
they  were  a  growing  party,  and  were  likely  to  get  into  power. 
I  do  not  give  his  words,  but  the  substance  ;  for  it  reminded 
me  of  what  Garrison  had  threatened,  before  he  was  agent  and 
lecturer  for  the  Colonization-Society,  which  he  abandoned  for 
abolitionism,  and  then  abused  most  outrageously,  for  reasons 
I  never  quite  understood.  He  meant  to  be  heard,  to  become 
notorious,  and  to  deserve  an  epitaph,  or  at  least  a  biography, 
from  me,  as  I  have  mentioned  already. 

At  another  time,  while  the  first  will-case  was  on  trial,  Mr. 
Dow,  in  the  presence  of  my  wife,  proposed  to  fall  in,  by  acci 
dent,  with  some  of  the  jury,  and  have  a  little  talk  with  them  ; 
and  when  I  rejected  the  proposition,  hardly  believing  him  to 
be  in  earnest,  he  then  said  that  one  of  the  principal  witnesses, 
named  Osgood.  who  worked  in  the  tanyard,  he  had  sent  off 
to  the  engine-house,  Dow  being  the  chief-engineer  at  the 
time,  where  he  meant  to  drop  in,  by  accident,  and,  without 


NEAL    DOW'S    MANAGKMKXT.  407 

entering  into  conversation  about  his  knowledge  of  Uncle 
Stephen's  business  capacity  and  habits,  to  begin  talking  to 
himself,  while  Osgood  was  cleaning  up  the  harnesses  and 
machinery,  but  loud  enough  to  enlighten  him  on  several  im 
portant  points,  in  such  a  way,  that,  if  he  should  be  questioned 
in  court,  whether  anybody  else  had  talked  with  him  on  the 
subject,  and  especially  Dow,  he  could  answer  no,  with  perfect 
safetv  !  I  denounced  the  whole  procedure,  with  a  feeling  of 
surprise,  akin  to  indignation,  and  refused  to  allow  it.  or  to 
have  anv  thing  to  do  with  such  tampering.  Not  onlv  was  it 
wrong  in  itself,  but  extremely  hazardous,  and  might  be  fatal, 
lie  could  not  see  any  thing  wrong  in  it,  he  said.  The  prop 
erty  in  dispute  was  clearly  and  honestly  mine,  and  they  were 
trying  to  lie  me  out  of  it,  by  fraud,  misrepresentation,  and 
perjury. 

"  And  tliat"  said  my  wife  to  me,  after  Dow  had  left  the 
room.  k-  that  you  call  an  honest  man  !  "  I  laughed,  and  said, 
what  I  then  believed  to  be  true,  "  Oh  !  he  is  a  great  manager, 
honest  enough,  I  dare  say.  but  too  cunning  by  half;  and  then, 
too,  he  knows  so  much,  and  values  himself  so  highly  on  his 
knowledge  of  mankind,  and  on  his  cleverness  in  bafliing,  out 
witting,  and  overreaching  the  dishonest." 

One  other  sample  of  his  management,  and  I  have  dune  with 
Mr.  Neal  Dow,  for  ever,  I  hope. 

One  dny,  after  the  election  of  General  Harrison,  which  I 
had  ur<;ed,  upon  the  ground,  that,  if  we  could  not  have  Harry, 
we  would  have  lJurrys-son,  it  being  believed  that  I  had  con 
tributed,  in  a  measure,  to  the  glorious  result,  by  speechifying 
and  writing,  and  laboring,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  and  by 
stopping  the  Portland  steamer,  that  1  might  take  the  news  of 
our  triumph  in  Maine  along  with  me  to  the  Syracuse-Con 
vention —  via  Mr.  Thurlow  Weed  —  and  then  laboring  through 
New-York  and  Massachusetts,  at  the  Harrisburg-Convention, 
and,  above  all,  through  the  Washington-Supper;  the  proceed 
ings  of  which  I  reported  for  Gales  and  Seaton  —  nobody  else 
qualified,  being  sober  enough  for  the  job,  said  Mr.  Gales  —  and 
paying  my  own  expenses  from  first  to  last :  one  day.  after  all 
this,  my  enthusiastic  friend,  Neal  Dow,  called  on  me  to  know 
what  1  intended  to  ask  for  myself.  "  Nothing,"  said  1,  "•  noth 
ing  whatever.  I  have  no  pretensions,  no  claims  ;  and  I  do 


408  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

not  know  an  office  in  the  gift  of  President,  or  Governor,  which 
I  would  accept."  And  I  was  perfectly  sincere. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  ;  "  then  I  want  yon  to  do  m<j  a  favor/' 
—  "  With  all  my  heart;  what  is  it?"  —  "I  want  yon  to  have 
me  appointed  Aide  to  Governor  Kent."  — v>  You!  a  Quaker, 
and  wholly  unacquainted  with  military  affairs  !"  —  for  all  he 
knew,  he  had  learned  with  rne  of  Leviuski,  who  drilled  a  few 
of  us  for  a  month  or  two,  in  the  cavalry  and  infantry  exercise  ; 
Mr.  Dow  riding  a  clumsy  brute  from  his  father's  bark-mill, 
which,  when  he  rode  at  a  fence,  always  boggled  and  stopped 
short  on  the  wrong  side,  and  never  tried  a  ditch.  "Never 
mind  all  that,"  said  he ;  "  I  want  the  office,  and  if  you  ask  for 
it,  I  shall  get  it ;  for  I  know  —  emphatically  —  I  knoiu  that  you 
can  have  any  thing  you  ask  for."  And  so-I  applied  for  the 
office,  and  obtained  it  for  him,  without  asking  another  ques 
tion,  though  people  who  knew  him  best  were  most  puzzled; 
Senator  Fessenden,  among  others,  who  told  me  that  he  was 
present  when  the  governor  issued  the  commission.  "  What 
on  earth,"  said  Fessenden  to  the  governor,  "  what  on  earth 
can  Neal  Dow  want  of  a  colonelship  ? "  —  "Not  knowing, 
can't  say,"  said  the  governor,  "  but  there  is  Neal's  letter ; 
judge  for  yourself." 

Having  secured  this  appointment,  Mr.  Dow  next  began 
writing  in  the  papers  about  "  Harbor- Defences ;"  and  the 
next  thing  he  did,  was  to  call  on  me  for  a  letter  to  the  Secre 
tary  of  War,  recommending  him  as  qualiHed  to  superintend 
the  works  in  our  harbor,  and  to  act  as  a  disbursing-agent 
here ;  large  appropriations  having  been  made  for  this  harbor. 
"  But  you  are  no  engineer,"  said  I ;  "  you  have  not  studied 
fortification,  or  gunnery."  —  "No  matter  for  that:  engineers 
are  not  wanted ;  all  they  want  is  a  superintendent,  or  dis- 
bursiug-agent,  to  carry  out  the  plans  adopted  by  the  engineer- 
department."  And  then  to  satisfy  me  of  his  entire  fitness,  he 
asked  me  to  read  the  papers  he  had  written  about  "  Harbor- 
Defences."  I  did  so ;  pronounced  them  judicious,  and  well 
written,  as  they  certainly  were,  and  was  about  to  say  more, 
when  I  saw  at  once  what  he  was  driving  at.  With  the  title 
of  Colonel,  and  acting  as  Aide  to  the  governor,  these  papers 
would  be  taken  for  the  suggestions  of  a  military  man,  who 


WOMAN'S    RIGHTS.  409 

might  be  safely  trusted  with  the  work.  Was  there  ever  a 
better-contrived  manoeuvre  ?  Here  the  manager  surpassed 
himself;  and  he  never  equalled  it  afterward,  till  he  shot  poor 
Bobbins,  the  sailor,  without  provocation  or  excuse,  after 
marching  and  countermarching  his  battalions,  and  moving  this 
way  and  that,  upon  the  enemies'  works,  with  twenty  or  thirty 
men,  at  most,  I  believe;  of  all  which  we  had  an  official  bulletin 
the  next  morning,  as  if  he  had  carried  another  Malakoff  or 
Sebastopol  by  storm  —  killing  him  just  outside  of  a  thick,  dou 
ble  door,  which  was  riddled  with  bullets,  and  all  from  tJte  in 
side,  where  Mr.  Neal  Dow  and  his  confederates  were  blazing 
away  in  safety,  upon  a  defenceless,  unarmed  gathering  of  the 
people,  who  had  come  to  see  what  was  brewing  —  all!  not  a 
single  shot  being  from  the  outside  !  To  me,  it  seemed  a  case 
for  which  Mr.  Dow  ought  to  have  been  put  upon  immediate 
trial.  In  England,  he  would  have  been  hanged  upon  the  evi 
dence  ;  but  here,  having  a  large  party  to  uphold  him,  and 
obtain  a  pardon,  if  convicted,  what  had  he  to  fear?  But 
enough.  These  facts  are  not  to  be  misunderstood.  Of  his 
career  since,  as  a  military  man,  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to 
speak.  Some  of  the  stories  told  of  him  everywhere,  may  be 
exaggerations,  or,  perhaps,  downright  calumnies  ;-  but  some  are 
so  much  of  a  piece  with  his  manoeuvring  here  in  the  tem 
perance-organization,  and  with  his  management  of  their  cham 
pion,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Peck,  our  defaulting  State-Treasurer, 
for  whom  Dow  was  one  of  the  sureties,  as  to  make  them  very 
probable,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 

And  now  for  another  of  the  great  leading  objects  of  my  life 
—  WOMAN'S  RIGHTS,  and  WOMAN'S  WRONGS.  But  before  I 
enter  upon  that,  allow  me  to  say  that  I  came  near  shipwreck 
ing  my  reputation  for  common-sense  and  reasonable  foresight^ 
by  my  championship  of  General  Bratish,  Count  Eliovich, 
&c.,  &c.,  about  the  same  time,  in  a  pamphlet  of  fifty  large 
octavo  pages,  closely  printed,  most  of  which  I  have  had  to 
unsav,  within  the  last  twelvemonth ;  because,  forsooth,  I  could 
not  bear  to  stand  by,  and  see  a  poor  fellow  wronged  by  a  set 
of  banded  conspirators  and  cut-throats,  as  I  then  believed,  and 
had  good  reasons  for  believing  them  to  be. 

But  I  had  other  irons  in  the  fire  ;  and  a  pamphlet  may  be 
found,  of  perhaps  a  hundred  pages  or  so,  according  to  my 


410  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

present  recollection,  written  by  me  immediately  after  the 
overflow  of  Cairo,  in  18 — .  when  the  city  itself  was  said  to 
have  heen  submerged  and  about  washed  away,  wherein  I  give 
a  history  from  the  first,  after  it  came  into  the  hands  of  the 
late  Darius  B.  Holbrook,  one  of  the  shrewdest,  and  most  lib 
eral  and  enterprising  men  of  our  day,  with  sagacity  and  fore 
cast  enough  to  lay  the  foundations  of  another  Tyre,  if  lie  had 
been  allowed  to  live  a  few  years  longer,  showing  what  a  pro 
digious  power  it  was  in  embryo,  and  what  it  must  be  in  time, 
if  the  Missouri  and  Ohio  didn't  dry  up ;  and  bespeaking  for 
it.  among  our  capitalists,  the  consideration  it  deserved.  Thus 
far,  it  seems  to  have  been  faithful  to  the  promise  I  made  for 
it,  as  a  geographical  centre,  and  treasure-house,  for  the  unex 
plored  Western-World. 

While  investigating  this  matter,  years  before,  I  had  been 
shown  a  scheme  of  Life- Assurance,  on  a  Mutual  Plan,  sug 
gested  by  the  London  Loan-Company,  whereby  the  assured, 
instead  of  being  called  upon  to  pay  all  their  premiums  in  cash, 
thirty  years  in  advance,  would  be  required  to  pay  only  twenty- 
five  per  cent  cash,  afterward  changed  to  fifty  per  cent,  so  as  to 
avoid  assessments;  and  give  notes  for  the  balance,  on  interest, 
at  six  per  cent;  so  that,  instead  of  allowing  others  to  invest 
for  them,  and  manage  for  them,  they  would  keep  at  least  one- 
half  of  the  capital  they  had  invested,  always  within  reach,  for 
emergencies.  1  liked  the  plan  ;  and,  with  a  view  of  intro 
ducing  it  here,  consented  to  be  agent  for  Maine.  And  such 
was  the  success  I  met  with,  following  a  good-sized  volume  of 
stories,  reasonings,  fact's,  and  statistics,  which  I  sent  to  our 
papers,  from  time  to  time,  that  I  found  it  for  my  advantage 
to  give  up  law  —  law,  physic,  and  divinity,  I  might  say,  to 
gether  with  lecturing  and  writing  —  though  I  received  less 
than  half  the  commissions  which  have  been  allowed  since  by 
the  company  to  my  successor,  and  to  other  agents.  Never 
theless,  I  do  not  complain  ;  for  I  have  lived  to  see  the  Mutunl- 
Beneh't  Life-insurance  Company  take  its  place  among  the 
foremost  philanthropic  institutions  of  the  world,  for  safety, 
wisdom,  and  foresight ;  offering  advantages,  on  the  whole, 
superior  to  those  of  any  other  association  I  know  of,  either 
abroad  or  at  home. 

And    now   for    the    subject   last    mentioned  —  WOMAN'S 


WOMAN  S    RIGHTS.  411 

RIGHTS.  I  had  been  the  advocate  of  "  "Woman's  Rights,"  for 
many  years  before  I  went  abroad.  There.  1  met  with  Jeremv 
Bentluun.  who.  while  arguing  for  universal  siifFrnge,  seemed 
willing  to  overlook  woman,  for  a  while,  if  not  for  ever.  But 
lie  had  materially  changed  his  views  before  I  left  England. 
I  It- iv  I  renewed  the  controversy —  though  not  as  I  might  have 
done  —  by  touching  upon  the  subject  now  and  then,  and  here 
and  there,  in  the  "  Yankee." 

At  last.  I  was  taken  to  task  for  my  sluggishness,  and  alto 
gether  by  surprise,  in  the  year  1<S.'J1.  if  I  do  not  mistake, 
since,  which  1  have  never  lost  sight  of  my  object,  nor  relaxed 
my  efforts  in  behalf  of  women,  as  our  equals,  our  co-efficients, 
and  co-equivalents.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  one  dav,  I  was 
accosted  in  the  street  by  two  members  of  a  committee,  who 
had  been  looking  for  me.  They  had  engaged  an  orator  for 
the  Fourtli-of-July  —  this  was  the  third  —  and  thev  had  just 
been  apprised  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  toe  the  mark. 
AVhat  was  to  be  done?  They  thought  of  me,  and  acknowl 
edged  that  they  had  been  after  me,  because  they  knew  not 
where  else  to  go. 

Of  course,  if  I  ever  wrote  an  oration,  there  was  no  time  for 
writing  now.  I  accepted  ;  and  the  next  day  appeared  in  a 
pulpit,  a  place  which  I  had  long  been  familiar  with,  and 
opened  upon  the  multitude,  who  crammed  the  house  to  over 
flowing,  with  an  unpremeditated  annunciation  of  the  great 
principles  I  have  always  contended  for.  from  that  day  to  "this; 
maintaining  that  women  were  the  equals  of  man  from  the 
first;  God  having  created  MAN  in  his  own  image,  "male  and 
female  created  he  them  ;  '  that  identity  was  one  thing,  equality 
another;  two  properties  which  need  not  co-exist;  that  taxa 
tion  and  representation  were  correlatives,  and  could  not  be 
separated  ;  that  virtual  representation  was  no  representation 
at  all,  as  our  Fathers  had  undertaken  to  demonstrate  by  the 
mouth  of  cannon  and  the  blaze  of  musketry,  although  it  was 
no  sooner  acknowledged  for  unquestionable  truth,  as  well  as 
that  allegiance  and  protection,  taxation  and  representation, 
were  "parts  of  one  stupendous  whole,  whose  body  Nature 
is,  and  God  the  soul."  than  they,  our  Revolutionary  Fathers, 
turned  round  upon  all  the  women  of  the  country,  being  one- 
half,  at  least,  of  our  whole  population,  and  overwhelmed 


412  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

them  with  the  very  dogmas  they  had  been  fighting  against ; 
not  only  disfranchising  them,  but  enslaving  them  for  ever,  and 
ranking  the  married  with  felons,  idiots,  infants,  and  lunatics, 
and  the  unmarried  with  Choctaws  and  South-Sea-Islanders ; 
having  no  rights  worth  mentioning,  except  the  right  of  serv 
ing  and  paying  for  the  privilege,  or  the  right  of  ministering 
to  man's  gratification.  I  asserted  that  our  women  were 
slaves,  bond-slaves,  not  having  a  right  to  their  own  bodies, 
their  own  children,  nor  their  own  earnings  ;  which  is  the  very 
definition  of  absolute  slavery;  not  being  allowed  to  acquire 
or  transmit  property  during  marriage,  nor  to  vote  before  mar 
riage,  nor  after  marriage,  though  taxed  to  the  uttermost ; 
nor,  under  any  circumstances,  to  have  a  voice  in  the  making 
of  laws,  in  the  administration  of  laws,  or  in  the  choice  of 
rulers:  all  the  sovereign  powers  of  government,  legislative, 
executive,  and  judiciary,  being  concentrated  in  one  body  — 
the  man  —  which,  of  itself,  constitutes  an  oligarchy.  In  short, 
I  exhausted  the  subject,  and  laid  a  foundation  for  about  all 
the  arguments  I  have  heard  since  in  favor  of  woman's  rights ; 
and  all  this,  be  it  remembered,  without  preparation,  or  a  sin 
gle  note.  Of  course,  the  people  were  astonished.  Some 
were  puzzled  and  perplexed,  and  others  horrified ;  but  I  had 
the  mass  with  me :  most  of  the  men,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
women,  as  I  have  had  reason  to  know  since. 

Immediately  following  this  outbreak  and  overflow,  I  lec 
tured  in  several  places  upon  "Woman's  Rights  ;"  and,  among 
others,  at  the  Tabernacle,  in  New- York  City,  after  which  a 
debate  was  called  for,  and  Mr.  Stone,  the  editor,  and  some 
body  else,  I  forget  whom  just  now,  were  chosen  to  meet  me, 
and  the  debate  came  off  before  a  large,  though  not  over 
crowded,  assembly.  The  substance  of  Mr.  Stone's  whole 
argument  was  in  the  form  of  interrogatory  —  How  is  a  )vo- 
man  to  go  aloft,  if  she  enters  the  marine-service  ?  followed 
by  the  overwhelming  declaration,  that,  where  women  reign, 
men  rule.  "  Very  true,"  said  I ;  "  but  who  chooses  the  men  ? 
Look  at  the  ministers  and  generals  of  Elizabeth,  and  compare 
them  with  the  women  of  Charles  II.  and  George  IV." 

From  time  to  time,  since  then,  I  have  lectured  and  written 
much  upon  the  subject,  foreseeing  and  foretelling  what  has 
since  happened  in  the  changes  of  public  opinion ;  for  I  felt 


"WOMAN-SUFFRAGE.  413 

the  ground-swell  afar  off.  and  I  knew  it  must  come,  like  the 
gathered  wafers  through  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  all  the  more  to 
be  dreaded  if  any  hinderances  were  offered,  whenever  such 
hinderances  were  swept  away.  In  a  freshet,  we  know,  that 
whatever  docs  not  effectually  stop  the  accumulating  waters, 
though  it  may  hinder  or  delay  for  a  season,  only  adds  to  their 
momentum  at  last. 

In  March.  I<s"j7,  I  began  a  series  of  papers  in  the  "Phreno 
logical  Journal."  on  "Woman's  Rights  and  Woman's  Wrongs," 
which  were  continued  through  several  successive  numbers, 
wherein,  among  other  things.  I  reviewed  the  positions  of 
Senator  Morrell,  taken  by  him  against  "  Woman's  Rights " 
in  the  United-States  Senate-Chamber.  Bein<r  one  of  our 
ablest  men.  clear-headed,  conscientious,  and.  if  not  alwavs 
convincing,  at  least,  plausible,  I  chose  to  tilt  with  him,  instead 
of  breaking  a  lance  with  the  camp-followers,  buglers,  and 
guerillas. 

And.  within  the  last  three  months,  having  been  summoned 
to  attend  a  convention  of  the  sisterhood,  with  half  a  score  of 
helpers  and  coadjutors,  who  wore  hats,  which  I  was  unable  to 
answer  in  person.  I  bore  my  testimony  in  writing:  and,  from 
that  dav  to  this,  have  been  popping  away  at  our  busiest  and 
most  formidable  adversaries,  whenever  they  ventured  to  show 
their  heads  above  their  intrenchments  :  like  Mrs.  Pierce,  of 
the  "Atlantic."  and  Gail  Hamilton,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Cham 
bers,  of  Philadelphia,  and  Ex-Governor  AVashburn.  though, 
for  aught  I  know,  he  may  be  with  us  in  heart;  for  the  views 
he  enunciates  in  favor  of  equal  suffrage,  through  the  exercise 
of  Congressional  power,  do  of  necessity  include  women,  if 
principle  and  consistency  are  to  govern. 

Mrs.  Pierce,  for  example,  says  in  the  "  Atlantic  "  for  Feb 
ruary,  u  Suppose  that  manhood-suffrage,  precisely  as  men  now 
exercise  it,  were  to  be  extended  to  women.  As  long  as  we 
agreed  with  the  majority  of  men,  all  would  go  well.  Not 
being  able  to  fight  ourselves,  however,  and.  too  poor  to  bring 
mercenaries  into  the  field"  —  as  our  fathers  did  —  "what 
should  we  do  in  case  of  any  irreconcilable  difference  of  opin 
ion  or  interest  between  men  and  women  voters  ?  Simply 
what  we  do  now  in  our  own  families,  when  we  disagree  with 
a  determined  husband  or  father  —  give  up."  But  why  are 


414  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

the  unmarried,  widows  and  spinsters,  with  no  husband,  no 
despotic  father,  to  give  up  ?  And  why.  indeed,  should  any 
woman  give  up  her  political  preferences  or  opinions,  any  more 
than  her  religious  opinions  and  preferences,  or  her  settled,  con 
scientious  convictions  of  her  understanding  upon  any  subject  ? 
That  a  man  and  his  wife  are  one,  and  that  one,  the  husband,  can 
be  true,  after  all,  but  in  a  very  limited  sense.  "Being  answerable 
here  and  hereafter,  with  a  separate  understanding,  and  a  sepa 
rate  conscience,  and  a  soul  to  be  saved,  the  wife  cannot,  if  she 
would,  make  her  husband  answerable  for  her  transgressions. 
Knowing  well  that  what  our  children  are  now,  that  will  our 
country  be  hereafter,  how  can  she  refuse  to  judge  for  herself, 
and  act  for  herself,  in  whatever  may  concern  their  welfare, 
either  now  or  hereafter,  even  though  there  should  arise  an 
"  irreconcilable  difference  of  opinion  or  interest"?  But  wo 
men  do  not  give  up  in  these  cases ;  women  of  understanding, 
women  who  respect  themselves,  or  their  husbands.  I  mean. 
Much  they  may  yield  for  peace,  but  not  every  thing.  The 
ballot,  being  essentially  secret,  secures  the  independence  of 
all  who  use  it,  men  or  women. 

And  as  to  what  our  sister  says  of  a  majority,  there  seems 
to  be  a  strange  confusion  of  thought  in  her  illustration.  As 
if  women  would  ever  all  vote  alike ;  as  if  some  would  not  go 
with  the  minority,  while  others  went  with  the  majority.  If 
it  would  be  safe  to  agree  with  the  latter,  why  not  with  the 
former  ?  And  then,  too,  why  may  not  a  woman  keep  her 
own  counsel,  if  her  husband  or  father  chooses  to  trespass  on 
her  natural  right  ?  Why  should  she  be  required  to  vote  with 
him,  any  more  than  he  with  her?  And  why  oblige  her  to 
show  her  ballot  ? 

Again  she  says,  "  Why  should  we  tease  men  for  the  right 
of  suffrage  when  they  do  not  want  to  give  it  to  us?"  —  Did 
she  ever  urge  that  argument  while  struggling  for  the  emanci 
pation  of  colored  slaves?  —  "  And  when,  if  we  had  it,  perhaps 
we  could  not  use  it  any  better  than  we  can  lift  the  sledge 
hammers,  which  yet  they  wield  so  easily." 

As  if  casting  votes  were  like  forging  anchors;  or  bodily 
strength  a  qualification  !  How  would  feeble,  sickly,  or  delicate 
men  like  to  be  reasoned  with,  in  this  way  ?  And  yet.  women 
do  swing  sledge-hammers,  and  grub  oaks,  and  empty  mines, 


WOMAX-SUFFRAGE.  415 

and  load  ships,  and  plow,  yoked  with  cattle,  or  led  by  mules, 
and  carry  hu^e  bushels  of  manure  on  their  backs,  while  their 
loving  husbands  and  fathers,  with  their  ••  irreconcilable  differ 
ence  of  opinion  and  interest"  carry  the  whip,  and  saunter 
til  on  IT  by  their  side,  with  pipes  in  their  mouths. 

••  Furthermore,  woman-suffrage,"  says  the  dear  creature, 
"  that  is.  the  regulation  of  our  own  affitirs  .  .  .  we  have  now/' 
Indeed  !  But  since  when  and  where  ?  In  your  nurseries,  and 
kitchens,  and  wash-rooms.  But  is  that  woman-suffrage?  .  .  - 
'•  The  expression  of  our  united  opinion,  and  the  preferring 
of  our  united  request,  we  Jiarc  now.  without  asking  any  one 
for  it.''  Keallv!  and  such  reasons  are  to  satisfy  th>j  generous 
longings,  the  lofty  aspirations  of  an  immortal,  desirous  of 
emancipation,  and  asking  leave  to  think  for  herself.  "  United 
opinions  are  conceded  to  united  requests."  But  who  ever 
heard  of  united  opinions,  or  united  requests,  if  the  phrase 
means  any  thing  more  than  we  always  mean  by  the  riirht  of 
petition?  Are  the  people  ever  unanimous,  ever  united? 
But  a  prayer  is  one  thing,  the  answer  another.  You  are  al 
lowed  to  ask  for  what  you  please,  and.  therefore,  ought  to  be 
satistied.  But  how  if  your  petition  be  refused?  I  low  if  your 
asking  be  answered  with  a  ribald  jest,  or  shouting  and  outcries, 
'"Ye  have  not  because  ye  ask  not."  perhaps? 

"And  I  believe  with  (rail  Hamilton,"  she  adds.  "  that,  if 
the  request  were  at  all  wise  or  reasonable"  —  wise  or  reason 
able  !  But  who  are  to  be  the  judges?  Weve  the  women  of 
New-Jersey  unwise  or  unreasonable,  when  they  petitioned  to 
be  restored  to  their  ancient  constitutional,  and  I  might  say 
inalienable,  rights  ?  or  the  women  of  England,  when  they 
were  laughed  out  of  court  for  asking  to  be  considered  as 
human  beings  ?  Were  the  men  and  women  who  remonstrated 
and  petitioned,  year  after  year,  in  aid  of  the  blacks,  unwise  or 
unreasonable?  Are  the  ten  thousand  women  of  St.  Louis, 
Missouri,  who  pay  taxes  on  fourteen  and  a  half  millions,  ac 
cording  to  the  citv  assessor,  unreasonable,  when  they  ask  for  a 
correspondent  representation  ?  Are  the  women  teachers  of 
our  country,  who  see  men  teachers  paid  two  hundred  and  fifty 
per  cent  more  than  they  are  allowed,  throughout  the  land,  ac 
cording  to  Mr.  Warren  Johnson,  commissioner  of  Maine,  unrea 
sonable  in  askinir  for  a  little  more  ?  Are  the  women  of  Boston, 


416  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

who  pay  taxes  on  forty -one  millions  of  property,  twenty- 
eight  millions  of  real,  and  thirteen  millions  of  personal  estate, 
unreasonable^  when  they  ask  for  a  share  in  the  adminis 
tration  ?  — "  And  if  the  request  were  to  come  from  the 
numerical  majority  of  women,"  she  adds,  "  the  Legislature 
would  no  more  think  of  refusing,  than  a  just  man  would  think 
of  refusing  a  wife  whom  he  trusted."  But  just  men.  or  men 
who  are  called  just,  do  constantly  refuse  their  wives  this  very 
privilege,  and  oppose  it  with  all  their  strength.  As  lawgivers, 
would  they  be  likely  to  change  for  the  better  ?  And  then, 
too,  how  are  we  to  ascertain  the  numerical  majority,  unless 
women  are  allowed  to  vote,  and  their  names  are  registered  ? 
And  if  the  women  were  not  unanimous,  as  they  never  were, 
and  never  will  be,  any  more  than  men,  what  is  to  become  of 
their,  "  request"  however  "  reasonable  ?  " 

"  But  women  do  not  ask  for  suffrage,"  say  others.  More 
shame  for  them,  if  it  were  true  ;  but  it  is  not  true.  They  are 
asking  for  it  over  all  the  land.  No  less  than  a  hundred  female 
teachers  in  Boston  say  they  want  to  vote.  And  if  it  were 
true,  what  then  ?  The  slaves  did  not  ask  for  freedom  as  a 
body.  Only  here  and  there  one  asked  for  it. 

The  Hindoo  women  did  not  ask.  nor  do  they  now,  to  be 
delivered  from  the  sacrifices  of  Juggernaut,  or  the  Ganges, 
nor  from  the  funeral-pyres  of  their  dead  husbands  ;  but  have 
always  claimed  as  a  distinction,  the  privilege  of  being  roasted 
alive,  of  drowning  their  babies,  and  feeding  the  crocodiles 
with  the  fruit  of  their  womb,  and  of  being  crushed  to  death, 
according  to  law. 

The  Chinese,  too,  whose  virtual  representatives  cripple  their 
fret  to  keep  them  from  gadding,  only  ask  to  be  let  alone  by  the 
outside  barbarians. 

Left  to  themselves,  our  children  would  never  take  medicine, 
ask  to  be  bothered  with  the  alphabet,  or  restrained  from  mis 
chief. 

But  are  these  good  reasons  why  we,  who  know  better  what 
they  need,  and  what  their  rights  are,  than  they  themselves 
do,  should  refuse  our  interposition,  if  we  see  them  wronged, 
or  wholly  ignorant  of  their  rights? 

The  Chinese  women  would  resent,  furiously  resent,  any 
interference  with  their  immemorial  privileges,  just  as  the 
Mohammedan  women  would  be  likely  to  flare  up,  if  we  should 


EQUAL-RIGHTS.  417 

suggest  a  little  more  freedom  of  choice,  or  service,  in  their 
harems  and  seraglios  :  and  many  of  Brigham  Young's  wives 
"would  be  sure  to  take  our  interference  in  their  behalf  un- 
kindlv.  if  the}'  didn't  comb  our  heads  with  a  three-legged 
stool. 

But  would  this  show  that  such  usages  were  right,  because 
they  were  not  felt  to  be  wrong  by  the  sufferers  themselves? 
Would  our  duty  be  any  the  less  clear,  if  \ve  knew  them  to 
be  laboring  under  a  delusion,  or  drugged,  or  blindfolded? 
we  knowing,  and  they  not  knowing,  the  consequence  of 
hereditary  bondage,  and  paralyzing,  deadly  prejudice. 

Hut  if  women  do  not  ask  and  insist  upon  the  privilege,  as 
they  never  yet  have  done,  how  can  they  be  expected  to  value 
it,  if  obtained  for  them  bv  others? 

Men,  though  allowed  to  vote,  do  not  always  vote.  Upon 
the  average,  not  more  than  three-fifths  of  the  qualified  voters 
take  the  Held,  except  upon  great  occasions.  They  are  allowed 
to  keep  arms  in  their  houses  ;  but  how  few  avail  themselves 
of  the  rii^ht.  As  a  tax.  and  not  as  a  privilege,  both  of  these 
rights  are  generally  regarded,  till  some  great  question  arises. 
But  who  would  venture  to  deny  these  rights,  or  interpose 
with  any  hindrance?  The  whole  country  would  be  a  camp, 
within  forty-eight  hours,  if  such  rights  were  ever  seriously 
questioned. 

But  women  could  not  vote  without  uusexing  themselves. 

And  why  not  ?  Could  not  places  be  set  apart  for  women- 
voters  ?  Could  not  a  committee  of  the  olJtcr  sex,  if  you  will, 
be  trusted  with  the  ballot-box  for  women-voters?  And  bal 
lots  being  secret,  or  they  are  no  ballots,  if  the  voter  keeps  her 
own  counsel,  how  is  anybody  to  know  what  she  does  not 
choose  to  reveal  ? 

But  women  would  have  to  bear  arms,  obligations  and  privi 
leges  being  correlative  and  reciprocal ;  and  they  are  wholly  un 
fitted  for  such  work. 

I  deny  both  propositions.  Only  the  able-bodied  are  ever 
required  to  bear  arms;  and  of  these,  a  large  proportion  are 
exempted,  even  in  time  of  war:  all  under  eighteen  and  over 
fortv-five.  all  the  under-sized,  and  near-sighted,  or  deaf,  or 
deformed,  all  stammerers,  all  ministers,  judges,  public  officers, 
and  schoolmasters.  And  then,  too.  instead  of  beinsi  unfitted 

27 


418  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

for  the  business  of  war,  for  the  battle-field,  the  camp,  and  the 
hospital,  what  says  our  own  experience,  during  the  last 
rebellion  ? 

"  But,"  says  the  Reverend  Mr.  Chambers,  while  trumpeting 
aloud  against  "universal  suffrage."  "woman  is  forgetting  the 
position  in  which  God  has  placed  her;  and  is  stooping  down 
from  that  platform  of  female  glory  and  beauty  and  excellency  " 
—  pooh  !  pooh  I  —  u  to  mingle  with  the  drunken  crowd,  and  the 
filth  of  the  streets,  about  the  polls,  on  election-day.  What  a 
pitiable,  sorrowful  sight,  to  see  the  loveliest  of  God's  creation 
on  earth  "  —  pish  !  —  "  the  American  woman,  shouldering  and 
elbowing  with  the  roughs  of  your  city,  the  fragments  of  their 
bonnets  and  the  borders  of  their  caps  being  strewn  about  the 
walks,  in  their  election-riots"  Mercy  on  us  !  what  are  we 
coming  to? 

As  if  women  would  be  obliged  to  vote  with  "  drunken  row 
dies  "  at  the  polls,  on  election-day  !  As  if  no  contrivance 
could  be  hit  upon,  for  collecting  their  suffrages  elsewhere ! 

What  if  the  reverend  gentleman  should  take  it  into  his 
head  to  call  upon  the  educated  and  refined,  the  delicate  and 
sensitive  among  men,  to  keep  away  from  the  polls,  and  forego 
the  right  of  suffrage,  leaving  the  whole  business  and  govern 
ment  of  the  country  in  the  hands  of  ''  drunken  rowdies," 
always  growing  worse  and  worse,  if  sober  and  peaceable  men 
withdraw,  lest  the  rabble-rout  should  trample  on  the  toes  of 
their  japanned  boots,  tear  off  their  coat-tails,  or  pluck  away 
their  breast-pins  and  watch-guards,  how  think  you  they  would 
relish  such  advice,  even  from  the  pulpit?  And  we  have  more 
of  this  flummery  from  another  reverend  gentleman,  Dr. 
Thompson,  in  the  "  New-England,"  for  January. 

But  other  objections  are  urged,  and  most  of  them  with  un 
relenting  vehemence.  For  example  :  Women  are  inferior  to 
men. 

Tried  by  what  standard  ?  There  being  no  common  stand 
ard  for  both,  if  it  were  true,  it  could  not  be  shown.  But  it 
is  not  true.  All  history  gives  the  lie  to  it ;  all  nature.  Tried_. 
by  the  woman-standard,  what  a  figure  man  would  cut !  And 
yet,  you  would  have  woman  tried  by  the  man-standard.  It 
is  the  female,  among  birds  of  prey,  that  is  the  larger  and 
fiercer;  the  she-wolf  and  the  lioness  which  are  most  to  be 


ARE    WOMEN    PERSONS?  419 

feared ;  the  queen-bee  that  first  colonizes,  and  then  governs 
her  commonwealth.  It  is  the  female  horse  that  Arabs  most 
value;  and  they  are  capital  judges.  "Flora  Temple"  and 
'•  Lady  Suffolk."  among  racers,  and  the  mares  you  see  labor 
ing  side  by  side  with  their  brothers,  on  all  our  farms,  and  in 
all  our  stage-coaches  and  stables,  are  enough  to  prove  at  least 
their  equality. 

But,  if  women  were  inferior,  if  it  were  all  true,  what  then? 
Are  the  beardless,  the  weakly,  the  feebler  of  intellect,  or  even 
the  uuderwitted,  short  of  helpless  fatuity,  among  males,  denied 
the  right  of  suffrage  ?  Are  all  men  alike  in  bodilv  strength 
or  intellect?  What  says  the  Constitution? 

Are  women  persons  ?  Are  they  a  part  of  the  people  ? 
What  says  the  Constitution  ? 

The  United-States  are  to  guarantee  to  every  State  a  repub 
lican  form  of  government. 

Governments  derive  their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of 
the  governed. 

The  House  of  Representatives  shall  be  composed  of  mem 
bers  chosen  every  second  year,  by  the  people  of  the  United- 
States  ;  and  electors  are  to  be  the  great  body  of  the  people  of 
the  United-States. 

But  who  are  the  people?  Are  not  women  a  part  of  the 
people  ? 

"  Let  me  ask,"  says  Mr.  Madison,  "  whether  the  Constitu 
tion  is  not  scrupulously  impartial  to  the  rights  and  pretensions 
of  every  class  and  description  of  citizens  ? "  But  who  are 
the  citizens  ?  Are  not  women  citizens  ? 

By  the  14th  Amendment,  it  is  declared  that  all  persons 
born  or  naturalized  in  the  United-States,  and  subject  to  the 
jurisdiction  thereof,  are  citizens  of  the  United-States,  and  of 
the  State  wherein  they  reside. 

Are  women  persons?  If  so,  they  are  citizens;  and,  if 
citizens,  then  are  they  a  part  of  the  people.  And  if  not  per 
sons,  what  are  they  ?  If  they  are  neither  citizens,  nor  of  the 
people,  are  they  not  slaves  ?  And,  if  not  persons,  are  they  not 
chattels  ? 

But  the  interests  of  husband  and  wife,  and  of  men  and 
women,  are  identical;  and,  therefore,  women  are  not,  and 
cannot  be  oppressed  ;  and  being  virtually  represented  by  their 
husbands  and  fathers,  they  have  nothing  to  complain  of. 


420  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Nonsense !  The  interests  of  no  two  human  beings  can 
ever  be  identical,  so  long  as  they  have  two  souls,  two  under 
standings,  and  two  consciences,  and  are  to  go  to  judgment, 
and  be  tried,  separately,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next; 
nav,  so  long  as  they  differ  in  temperament,  disposition,  expe 
rience,  faculties,  or  inclinations.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  argu 
ment,  it  is  a  mere  begging  of  the  question  ;  for  either  men 
have  an  interest  in  defrauding  and  oppressing  woman — for 
they  have  always  done  so,  whether  civilized,  christianized,  or 
barbarian  —  or  they  must  think  they  have,  when  they  have 
not,  and  are,  therefore,  not  only  knaves  and  tyrants,  but  fools. 

But  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  perhaps ;  for  if  you 
"  bray  a  fool  in  a  mortar,"  &c.,  &c. 

.  P.S.  While  I  am  writing,  a  decision  has  been  had  in  the 
United- States  Land-Office,  not  only  that  a  woman,  if  a  widow, 
is  a  person,  entitled  to  pre-emption,  but  that  an  unmarried 
woman,  over  the  age  of  twenty-one,  is  a  single  man  over  that 
age,  in  contemplation  of  law;  thereby  restoring  the  dominion 
of  justice  and  common-sense. 

And  now,  as  I  am  drawing  nigh  to  the  end  of  my  journey, 
let  me  say  that  many  things  have  been  omitted,  which  may  be 
looked  for  by  those  who  have  best  known  me,  and  others 
wholly  forgotten.  And  "  this  reminds  me  of  a  little  story," 
as  our  good  President  used  to  say,  which  will  go  to  show  how 
utterly  we  may  forget  some  things  we  have  been  most  familiar 
with.  When  living  in  Baltimore,  my  friend  Pierpont  and  I 
used  to  laugh  over  Tom  Moore's ';  Two- Penny  Post-Bag;" 
and  nothing  amused  us  •  more  than  the  "  Skein  of  white 
worsted  at  Flint's."  A  country  cousin  writes  to  a  Londoner 
for  quite  a  heap  of  things,  but  especially  for  a  "  skein  of  white 
worsted  at  Flint's,"  which,  like  the  sailor's  "  don't  forget  the 
pigtail,"  was  the  burden  of  her  song.  Again  and  again,  we 
laughed  over  the  phrase,  till  it  had  become  a  by-word  with 
us,  and  even  with  Mrs.  Pierpont  herself.  Not  many  years 
ago,  Mr.  P.  wrote  me  that  he  was  coming  down  to  Portland, 
with  his  wife,  and  wanted  to  know  if  we  needed  any  thing  in 
his  way.  "  Nothing,"  said  I,  "  but  a  *  skein  of  white  worsted 
at  Flint's ; ' "  remembering  how  the  country  cousin  had  sent 
her  friend  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  from  the  tower  to  West 
minster-Abbey,  back  and  forth,  after  the  skein  of  white 


FORGETFULNESS,    ETC.,    ETC.  421 

worsted,  supposing  all  these  places  were  near  together.  Well, 
in  due  time,  our  guests  arrived;  and  the  first  thing  they  did, 
was  to  unwrap,  and  lay  upon  the  table  before  us.  a  skein  of 
white  worsted.  Taking  it  for  a  capital  joke.  I  laughed  heart 
ily,  and  then  explained  it  to  my  good  wife,  who  stood  in  mute 
amazement  and  perplexity,  wondering  what  it  all  meant.  On 
further  inquiry,  we  found  that  Mr.  Pierpont  and  his  wife  had 
both  forgotten  the  verses  of  Moore,  the  "Two-Penny  Post- 
Bag.''  and  the  use  we  had  made  of  the  "  skein  of  white 
worsted''  at  Baltimore,  as  utterly  as  if  they  had  never  heard 
of  it  before  :  and  what,  after  all,  was  the  best  part  of  the 
joke,  he  had  brought  the  "skein  of  white  worsted"  for  us  in 
perfect  ufood  faith. 

Let  me  now  finish  this  Ions:  story  about  myself  and  my 
family,  by  adding,  that,  although  we  do  not  pretend  to  belong 
to  the  F.F.'s —  the  jFVss- Families  of  our  dav  —  we  manage, 
nevertheless,  to  be  presentable  ;  our  kindred  on  both  sides  of 
the  house,  and  on  all  sides,  being  substantial,  good-for-nothing 
people,  who  make  little  noise  in  the  world,  are  never  heard  of 
in  our  criminal-courts,  nor  in  Congress  ;  being,  at  best,  only 
good  citizens,  good  fathers,  good  mothers,  and  alwavs  trust 
worthy,  in  all  the  relations  of  life. 

Nor  are  we  disposed  to  complain  of  the  few  drops  of  bitter 
ness  we  have  had  in  our  cup.  On  the  contrary,  we  are  per 
suaded  that  we  always  fare  better  than  we  deserve.  Unlike 
that  farmer,  who  complained  that  whenever  hay  was  high,  he 
had  none  to  sell ;  and  that,  when  he  had  a  plenty,  nobody 
wanted  to  buy :  overlooking  the  fact,  that,  because  he  and 
others  had  no  hay  to  sell,  therefore  it  was  high  ;  and  because 
every  bod  v  had  good  crops,  therefore  nobody  wanted  to  buy, 
we  take  it  for  granted  that  our  crops  are  always  just  what 
they  should  be,  and  always  proportioned  to  our  wants.  In  a 
word,  we  are  always  contented,  though  never  apathetic  nor 
sluggish,  believing,  with  the  old  hump-backed,  club-footed 
Frenchman,  that  tout  est  pour  fe  mieux,  and  with  Alexander 
Pope,  that  "  whatever  is.  is  right." 

PORTLAND,  Jan.  30,  1869. 


AFTEK-THOUGHTS. 


MARCH  22, 18G9.  —  See  page  138.  —  My  attention  has  lately 
been  called,  by  a  stray  proof,  to  an  amusing  incident  which 
occurred  to  rne  at  Boston,  after  the  appearance  of  "  Goldau," 
and  the  "•  Battle  of  Niagara,"  in  1818,  when  I  had  become 
suddenly  almost  famous,  in  that  neighborhood,  showing  how 
we  are  influenced,  even  the  best  and  wisest  of  us,  by  trivial 
circumstances,  in  our  estimate  of  others. 

One  pleasant  sabbath-day,  I  received  a  delicately  perfumed 
note  from  one  of  Mr.  Pierpont's  parishioners,  a  wealthy, 
fashionable,  aristocratic  woman,  who,  with  her  estimable  hus 
band,  was  addicted  to  patronage,  inviting  me  to  dinner,  at  an 
hour  fixed,  "without  grace;"  to  which  I  replied,  impertinent 
ly  enough.  I  must  acknowledge1,  "With  great  pleasure  —  and 
with  as  little  grace  as  possible."  My  friend  Pierpont,  some 
how,  did  not  seem  to  relish  the  joke ;  but  he  said  nothing. 
Perhaps  he  didn't  see  it. 

At  the  table,  I  was  greatly  distinguished  by  the  attentions  of 
our  high-bred  hostess,  and  complimented  so  highly,  that  I 
began  to  feel  mischievous. 

••  For  the  life  of  me,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  cannot  bring  to 
mind  the  person  you  so  greatly  resemble :  can  it  be  Mr. 
Greenough,  or  Greenwood,  I  forget  which"  —  a  young 
clt'i'iryinan  of  the  heterodox  type,  just  settled  in  Boston,  and 
almost  worshipped  by  all  the  women,  who  didn't  belong  to 
another  parish  —  '•  or  have  I  not  seen  you  somewhere,  and 
not  very  long  ago,  neither  ?  I  have  been  startled  half  a  dozen 
times  to-day,  by  your  look  or  manner,  or  by  the  intonation  of 


424  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

your  voice,  and  have  begun  to  persuade  myself  that  we  are, 
at  least,  old  acquaintances." 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  I  —  the  temptation  was  irresistible, 
and  my  recollections  of  the  past  were  so  whimsical,  that  I 
could  not  forego  the  opportunity  —  "My  dear  madam"  — 
with  a  deferential  air  —  "I  think  I  can  clear  up  the  mystery. 
You  were  in  the  habit  of  buying  your  tea  —  real  Hyson  — of 
Mr.  James  Murphy,  three  or  four  years  ago,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  My  tea  !  —  certainly,  to  be  sure  —  but  "  —  She  began  to 
look  troubled. 

"  Of  course,  you  cannot  be  expected  to  remember  the  young, 
light-haired,  blue-eyed  shopman,  who  always  waited  on  you  "  — 
the  lady  was  all  at  sea  now  —  "  but  he  remembers  you,  and 
that  he  often  had  the  pleasure  of  serving  you  with  a  pound 
of  that  famous  tea." 

My  friend,  her  pastor,  looked  as  if  a  bomb  had  exploded 
underneath  his  chair  ;  and  though  the  lady  herself — or  gentle 
woman  rather,  for  I  dislike  ladies  in  this  part  of  the  world  — 
pretended  to  enjoy  the  joke,  she  reddened  a  little  —  all  over,  I 
should  say,  if  I  knew  the  fact  for  a  certainty,  and  I  am  sure  I 
saw  a  slight  quivering  about  the  mouth,  and  a  little  trembling 
of  the  eye-lashes  ;  and  I  rather  think  she  never  forgave  me. 
Nor  did  Mr.  Pierpont,  though  he  laughed  over  the  transac 
tion,  every  time  it  was  alluded  to,  till  I  went  back  to  Balti 
more. 

And  by  the  way,  speaking  of  Niagara,  or  the  "  Battle  of 
Niagara,"  a  poem  by  "Jehu  O'Cataract,"  it  happens  oddly 
enough,  that  this  very  day,  March  22d,  1869,  I  have  received 
the  following  note  from  a  perfect  stranger,  one  of  a  score  I 
have  been  favored  with  on  the  same  subject,  within  a  few 
years,  which  may  serve  to  show  that  people  have  no  idea  of 
what  is  meant  by  the  '•  Battle  of  Niagara,"  even  while  they 
profess  to  admire  it  prodigiously  —  at  second  hand,  perhaps, 
like  Mr.  Snelling,  in  his  very  smart  and  spiteful  "  Gift  for 
Scribblers ; "  and  Mr.  James  Russell  Lowell,  in  his  clever 
satire,  and  somebody  else  in  his  —  I  forget  what  —  who  bor 
rowed  from  Snelliug,  and  copied  all  his  blunders. 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  425 


AUBURN,  N.Y.,  March  19th,  1869. 

MY  DEAR  Sin,  —  If  you  can  conveniently  do  so,  will  you 
please  send  me  an  autograph  copy  of  your  poem  written  sonic 
time  since  —  k  The  Battle  of  Niagara.'  " 

An  autograph  copy  of  "Niagara"!  He  might  as  well  have 
asked  for  Niagara  itself! 

To  which  most  extraordinary  and  amusing  request,  I 
answered,  somewhat  in  this  way:  1st,  I  have  no  copy,  and 
know  not  where  to  find  one  ;  2d,  An  autograph  copy  would 
cost  you  two  hundred  dollars ;  3d,  That  my  correspondent 
probably  supposed  it  a  short  '•  occasional/'  or  "  fugitive " 
poem  ;  but  even  then,  to  ask  of  an  author  and  a  stranger  an 
autograph  copy  of  any  thing  he  had  written,  would  be,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  rather  inconsiderate,  &c.,  &c.,  &e.  What  think 
you,  fellow-craftsmen  ? 

P. 8.  —  In  due  course  of  mail,  I  received  a  handsome 
apology  from  the  writer,  with  many  thanks  for  my  plain  deal 
ing,  and  *  clear  explanation.  He  had  in  his  library  a  sample 
of  the  poem  —  a  brick  from  the  house  —  and,  having  no  idea 
how  voluminous  the  structure  might  be,  had  asked  the  favor 
of  a  cop//.  Whereupon,  I  forwarded  by  return  mail  two  pas 
sages  from  an  imperfect  copy  I  had  picked  up,  which,  so  far  as 
I  knew,  had  never  been  handled  by  the  newspapers,  or  pro 
faned  by  the  book-wrights. 

RIFLE-SHOOTING.  —  See  page  315-317. 

A  little  incident  may  be  mentioned  here,  which  gave  me, 
undeservedly,  a  prodigious  reputation  as  a  sharp-shooter,  just 
after  my  return  to  Portland  in  1827.  I  had  never  fired  a 
rifle  in  my  life.  My  experience  had  been  limited  to  fowling- 
pieces  and  pistols,  except  in  two  cases,  where  I  had  been 
otili ored  to  make  use  of  a  common  musket  in  shooting  mad 
dogs,  though,  to  be  sure,  in  my  early  boyhood,  I  had  let  off  a 
bellow's  nose  —  without  a  pocket-handkerchief — when  charged 
to  the  muzzle  with  gunpowder,  and  a  tamping  of  brick  dust, 
sometimes  point-blank  at  the  White-Hills,  not  more  than 
sixty  miles  off,  as  the  crow  flies,  and  sometimes  at  the  blue 


426  WANDERING  RECOLLECTIONS. 

heavens,  which  I  seemed  pretty  sure  of  missing,  even  then, 
and  sometimes  at  the  bluer  sea,  which  always  kept  the  secret; 
but,  being  no  marksman,  I  had  never  succeeded  in  "fetching  " 
either,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief. 

One  day.  while  sauntering  along  by  the  sea-shore,  and  up 
over  the  brow  of  Munjoy-Hill,  I  heard  voices  from  below  in 
dispute,  and  soon  after,  loud  laughing,  and  five  or  six  rifle 
shots,  in  quick  succession,  just  under  the  cliff.  Upon  going- 
nearer,  I  saw  a  large  party  of  young  men  with  rifles,  prepar 
ing  to  "plug"  the  furthermost  head  of  an  empty  barrel,  at 
a  distance  of  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards.  On  seeing  me, 
somebody  shouted,  "  There  he  is  now  !  let  us  leave  it  to  him  !  " 
"  Agreed  !  agreed  !  let  him  try  his  hand  !  "  from  all  quarters. 
And  then  I  was  called  up,  and  asked  in  all  seriousness,  if  I 
believed  it  possible  to  shoot  through  an  empty  barrel,  with  the 
nearest  head  out,  and  the  farthest  head  in. 

Not  knowing,  couldn't  say  ;  but  I  could  see  no  reason  why 
it  should  be  impossible,  as  they  alleged. 

"  Would  I  take  a  rifle  and  try  ?  They  had  all  done  their 
very  best,  and  failed." 

I  had  never  fired  a  rifle,  as  I  told  them ;  but  should  like  to 
know  of  my  own  knowledge,  as  the  lawyers  say,  that  it  could 
not  be  done,  by  a  bungler,  before  trying  to  account  for  the 
phenomenon  ;  remembering  how  Franklin  proposed  to  ascer 
tain  the  fact,  before  explaining  why  the  fish  and  water  both 
would  not  weigh  more  than  the  water  by  itself. 

Just  as  I  let  the  piece  drop  into  my  hand,  it  occurred  to 
me,  like  a  flash,  that  if  I' did  not  aim  at  the  centre  of  the  open 
space,  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  revolution  of  the  ball  might 
so  disturb  the  air  as  to  deflect  it ;  might  I  say,  for  I  had  no 
time  for  theorizing,  and  not  much  for  demonstration.  I  fired  my 
ball ;  it  struck  the  centre  of  the  head,  and  passed  clean  through 
it. 

A  shout  followed,  and  I  went  on  my  way,  as  if  accustomed 
to  such  things,  and  not  at  all  astonished  at  myself.  On  rny 
return,  two  hours  later,  I  found  the  same  head  completely 
riddled.  This,  they  explained,  by  saying  that  after  one  hole 
had  been  bored,  and  the  air  let  in,  there  was  no  difficulty. 
How  that  may  be,  I  do  not  pretend  to  know;  but  facts  are 
facts  ;  for  I  have  never  fired  a  rifle  since,  nor  a  pistol,  but 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  427 

once.  I  believe,  and  then  —  prepare  yourself — I  shot  a  hen, 
or  something  the  size  of  a  hen,  at  a  distance  of  twenty-eight 
or  thirty-two  rods  — I  forget  which  —  in  the  presence  of  old 
Mr.  Hopes  himself,  the  celebrated  Connecticut  manufacturer, 
with  his  own  favorite  pistol,  which,  for  a  long  time,  he  refused 
to  part  with,  ••  because.'"  he  said,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye,  k>  be 
cause  he  had  shot  a  brother  through  the  head  with  it.  bv  the 
strangest  accident,  as  he  crossed  the  line  of  fire1,  while  he  was 
proving  the  pistol ; "  but  consented  at  last,  after  seeing  me  use 
it,  and  so  I  had  the  fact  I  have  mentioned  engraved  on  a 
brass  plate  —  nothing  but  brass  would  serve  my  turn  —  and 
sunk  it  into  the  wood-work.  The  last  I  ever  saw  of  the 
weapon,  my  eldest  boy  took  it  with  him  to  Nicaragua,  as  a 
sort  of  pocket-rifle  —  and  left  it  there. 

NARROW  ESCAPES.  —  See  page  350. 

Among  half  a  hundred  narrow  escapes  I  have  had  in  the 
course  of  my  long  life,  are  two  or  three,  sufficiently  out  of  the 
common  way  to  be  worth  mentioning — perhaps. 

In  the  fall  of  1838,  having  to  go  from  Bath  to  Brunswick 
after  tea,  in  a  barouche,  with  two  strong,  spirited  horses,  a 
distance  of  only  six  or  eight  miles  by  the  common  road,  iny 
wife,  her  mother,  and  our  three  children  —  a  girl  of  nine,  a  boy 
of  eight,  and  another  little  thing  of  no  particular  age,  but  say 
four — I  was  overpersuaded  by  two  persons,  of  experience, 
gentlewomen  both,  who  lived  at  Topshum  and  were  well  ac 
quainted  with  all  the  ways  of  that  neighborhood,  to  take  one 
that  had  been  just  opened  through  the  woods,  and  thereby 
save  two  miles  or  so,  —  blockhead  that  I  was  !  We  started 
later  than  I  intended,  so  that,  in  examining  the  harnesses,  I 
overlooked  one  of  the  collars.  It  soon  grew  dark,  and  my 
horses  in  their  impatience,  as  I  then  thought,  became  almost 
unmanageable  ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  on  coming  to  a  long, 
rough,  and  rather  steep  hill,  I  begged  my  whole  family  to  get 
out  and  walk,  much  to  their  surprise,  while  1  drove  down  the 
hill  by  myself.  Before  I  reached  the  bottom,  the  horses 
began  to  act  so  strangely,  throwing  up  their  heads,  tossing 
their  manes,  and  plunging  so  furiously,  that  I  was  almost  afraid 
to  take  in  my  passengers,  after  I  had  got  there ;  but  after 


428  WANDERING   RECOLLECTIONS. 

alighting  and  examining  the  harness  with  my  hands,  for  it 
was  too  dark  to  see,  I  succeeded  in  soothing  them,  and  got  my 
freight  safely  on  board,  after  which,  as  the  road  was  full  of 
stumps  and  the  mud  up  to  our  knees  —  almost — I  called  to 
the  women  in  the  chaise,  to  fall  back,  and  let  me  take  the  lead, 
as  they  were  both  exceedingly  nervous,  and  so  frightened,  that, 
with  every  plunge  of  their  horse,  a  taint  scream  or  two  would 
reach  us.  After  plowing  through  a  mile  or  two  of  bog,  we 
came  to  a  bridge  ;  but  before  we  had  gone  twice  the  length  of 
the  carriage,  it  began  to  give  way  underneath.  Whereupon, 
I  stood  up,  shouting  with  all  my  strength,  and  gave  the  horses 
their  heads,  and  lashed  them  right  and  left,  to  their  unspeakable 
astonishment,  I  am  sure,  for  one  of  them  had  never  felt  the 
whip,  and  the  other  only  an  occasional  touch,  at  most.  For 
ward  they  sprang  —  leap  after  leap  —  plunge  after  plunge  — 
and  with  such  a  furious  clatter  on  both  sides  of  the  carriage, 
that,  really,  I  did  not  feel  quite  safe,  after  we  had  crossed, 
until  I  had  thrown  myself  out  once  more,  and  had  them  by 
the  heads.  I  was  then  told,  though  I  did  not  quite  believe 
the  story,  that,  as  we  went  over  the  bridge,  the  broken  planks 
flew  up  on  both  sides  of  the  carriage,  at  every  leap. 

As  soon  as  I  could  manage  to  hold  them,  in  the  midst  of 
charred  stumps,  and  unfathomable  mud,  I  got  my  family  out 
once  more,  and  sent  our  little  boy  to  stop  the  chaise,  and  tell 
the  women  to  wait  until  they  heard  from  us  ;  and  then  all  at 
once,  it  occurred  to  me,  like  a  flash,  that,  if  he  tried  to  go 
over  on  the  bridge,  it  might  be  dangerous,  if  not  fatal  to  him. 
But  what  was  I  to  do  ?  There  was  nobody  to  hold  the  horses, 
now  snorting,  and  stamping,  and  fretting  in  the  darkness. 
"  Never  mind  the  horses,  I  said,  get  out  of  the  way,  all  of  you, 
and  let  them  go  to  the  —  bugs,  if  they  will,  carnage  and  all  ; 
we  cannot  afford  to  lose  our  poor  boy  ; "  and  off  I  started, 
leaving  the  horses  literally  in  the  midst  of  what  they  called 
the  highway,  and  my  passengers  billeted  among  the  stumps,  in 
a  quagmire.  And  well  it  was  that  I  hurried ;  for,  on  reach 
ing  the  bridge,  I  found  to  my  horror  the  planks  all  gone,  a//, 
with  only  here  and  there  a  rotten  fragment  remaining,  and 
Master  James  trying  to  find  his  way  through  the  darkness,  by 
feeling. 

On  my  return,  I  found  a  stranger  standing  by  the  horses, 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  429 

patting  and  soothing  them,  and  was  informed  that,  having 
heard  the  noises,  and  the  screaming  of  the  women,  when  I 
shouted  —  the  women  in  the  chaise,  I  mean;  for  the  women 
with  me.  God  bless  them  !  didn't  so  much  as  open  their 
mouth-,  nor  interfere  in  any  way,  nor  did  the  children  utter  so 
much  as  a  single  peep,  or  I  do  believe  there  would  have  been  little 
or  nothing  left,  of  carriage  or  horses  —  he  had  come  to  our  help, 
and,  while  fumbling  about  the  harness,  had  found  the  hame- 
strap  unbuckled,  and  the  hame  of  one  collar  slipped  from  the 
groove,  owing  to  the  carelessness  of  the  hostler  at  Bath,  which 
was  undoubtedly  the  sole  cause  of  the  trouble  I  had  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  after  we  had  jumped  through  the  bridge. 
From  this  man,  we  learned,  moreover,  that  the  bridge  was 
oulv  a  temporary  affair,  built  for  the  teams  that  were 
employed  in  making  a  new  road ;  that  it  was  only  six  or 
eight  feet  above  the  swamp-mud,  which  was  —  nobody  ever 
knew  how  deep,  but  deep  enough  to  smother  us  all,  if  we  had 
gone  through. 

Another,  and  a  somewhat  similar  escape,  we  had  among  the 
White-Mountains,  not  long  before  this,  when  our  eldest  born 
was  almost  a  babv,  or  so  much  of  a  baby,  that  on  asking  her, 
as  she  and  the  two  daughters  of  our  late  Marshal  Smith, 
Adeline  and  Anne  —  now  Mrs.  Wheelau,  and  Mrs.  Horatio 
Bigelow  —  were  lying  about  in  the  grass,  higgledy-piggledy, 
after  we  had  whapped  over,  and  the  apples,  and  peppermints, 
and  other  goodies  lay  in  heaps  about  her,  how  she  liked 
that*  she  lisped,  u  Don't  lite  it  at  all,  and  there's  the  pep-mius  all 
spilt,  and  —  and  —  there's  the  appies  all  runnin'  away."  We 
were  upset  on  the  side  of  a  steep  hill,  and  the  horses  were 
lying  all  of  a  heap,  heads  and  points,  in  the  midst  of  what  was 
called,  with  striking  propriety,  an  abandoned  highway,  into 
which  we  had  blundered  by  mistake,  never  seeing  our  danger, 
till  the  carriage  began  to  rock  and  heave  this  way  and  that, 
like  a  boat  drifting  through  breakers. 

On  looking  out,  I  saw  one  of  the  horses  down,  and  the  other, 
a  very  powerful  creature,  holding  back  with  all  his  strength. 
Over  we  went,  but  so  slowly,  that  we  had  time  to  make  all 
our  arrangements;  Miss  Adeline  taking  the  baby  (Master 
James),  and  1,  after  calling  to  the  coachman  to  jump  off  arid 
keep  the  horses  from  getting  up,  time  enough  to  make  such 


430  WANDERING    RECOLLECTIONS. 

preparations  within,  that  nobody  was  hurt.  Here,  too,  we  had 
no  screaming :  we  all  went  over  in  a  heap,  without  opening  our 
mouths. 

How  strange  the  presence  of  mind  people  sometimes  mani 
fest  on  such  occasions,  where  you  would  not  look  for  any 
thing  of  the  sort  !  And  then  again,  ho\v  strange,  after  we 
have  had  a  narrow  escape,  to  tind,  upon  weighing  all  the 
circumstances,  and  reviewing  our  behavior,  when,  really,  there 
was  no  time  for  thought,  perhaps,  that  we  had  done  just  the 
very  thing  that  was  best!  I  remember  once  going  down 
Union-Street,  in  mid-winter,  when  the  lower  end  was  all  "a 
glare  of  ice."  I  had  hurt  my  leg  riot  long  before,  and  was 
so  lame,  that  I  had  to  limp  along  with  a  cane.  While 
crossing  the  street,  I  heard  an  outcry,  and,  on  turning  my 
head,  saw  a  truck-team  dashing  at  full  speed  after  me,  and 
slueing  this  way  and  that,  with  every  plunge  of  the  horses,  so 
that  there  was  no  getting  out  of  their  way,  and  no  standing 
still,  even  if  I  had  not  been  crippled.  Just  as  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  what  to  do,  another  team  took  fright  as  it  was  work 
ing  a  passage  over  the  smooth  ice  above,  and  began  to  slue, 
so  as  to  head  me  off.  This  probably  saved  my  life ;  for  as  the 
two  sleds  passed  me,  full  split,  one  on  my  right  and  the  other 
on  my  left,  and  so  near  that  1  was  in  danger  of  being  crushed, 
at  every  swing,  I  managed  to  grasp  one  of  the  stakes  on  each* 
sled,  and,  notwithstanding  my  lameness,  to  hop  from  one  sled 
to  the  other  for  a  minute  or  two  —  it  seemed  ten  minutes,  at 
least  —  until  I  was  out  of  danger.  Had  I  been  allowed  a 
whole  hour  to  think  of  it,  could  I  have  done  better,  think  you  ? 
And  yet,  I  had  only  a  second  or  two. 

CONTRIVANCES.  —  See  page  14. 

I  have  already  mentioned,  I  believe  —  have  I  not  ?  —  that  I 
spelled  my  name  Neale  in  "  Blackwood,"  for  the  purpose  of  mis 
leading  the  busybodies  about  me ;  but  I  have  lately  met  with 
a  copy  of  "  Randolph,"  where  I  find  the  same  orthography, 
for  the  same  reason.  I  was  criticising  our  writers,  and  often 

rather  sharply.     Of  course,  if  I  did  not  mention  J.  N. ,  J. 

N.  would  be  suspected  at  once  of  the  authorship.  And  if  I 
did  mention  him,  how  should  I  manage  to  throw  the  good- 


AFTKK-THOCGHTS.  431 

natured.  inquisitive  people  about  me.  off  the  track?  By  mis 
spelling  the  name.  This  for  a  long  time  was  effectual  :  but, 
alas!  how  little  did  I  foresee  that,  after  a  time.  1  should  either 
lose  my  own  shadow,  like;  Peter  Sehlimmel.  or  my  identity. 
'•Even  handed  justice/'  &c.  &<•.. —  and  this  coming  back  of 
our  contrivances  to  "plague  the  inventors"  —  begins  to  tell 
upon  me.  whenever  I  see  my  name  spelled  with  a  superfluous 
c,  like  that  of  Henry  C.  Xeale. 

AYo.MAx's  RIGHTS,  WOMAN-SUFFRAGE,  &c. 

By  the  merest  accident,  I  haye  just  lighted  on  a  verifica 
tion  of  what  will  be  found  somewhat  loosely  stated,  concerning 
the  origin  of  our  great  controversy  about  Woman's  Rights,  in 
pages  41).  62.  412,  &c.,  &c.  It  began  with  me  about  1820; 
and  in  the  ••  Brother  Jonathan,"  vol.  v.,  184.']  —  twenty-six  years 
ago  !  —  may  be  seen  a  synopsis  of  the  very  lecture  referred 
to,  as  delivered  in  the  Tabernacle,  without  notes,  in  that  year, 
together  with  a  charming,  eloquent,  and  most  ingenious  reply, 
from  Mrs.  T.  J.  Farnham.  and  my  answer  thereto,  running 
severally  from  pages  18-),  236.  266,  and  304,  all  which  I  had 
wholly  forgotten,  though  I  had  charge  of  the  literary  depart 
ment  of  the  "  Brother  Jonathan  "  at  the  time  ! 
-  The  whole  ground  is  here  covered,  and  the  papers  on  both 
sides  of  the  comroversy  ought  to  be  reproduced  in  a  pam 
phlet,  for  general  circulation. 

In  my  argument,  I  find  references  made  to  the  exemption 
of  Quakers  and  others,  who  are  conscientiously  scrupulous 
about  bearing  arms,  and  also  to  the  alternative,  which  has 
been  so  constantly  overlooked,  whereby  even  the  able-bodied 
are  permitted  to  pay  a  fine  or  provide  a  substitute,  if,  for  any 
reason,  they  do  not  choose  to  train  with  the  militia,  or  go  to 
war. 

P.S.  —  I  find,  too,  a  novel  of  mine  —  "Ruth  Elder"  — 
which  appeared  in  the  »•  Brother  Jonathan."  and  also  in  the 
ki  Home  Journal,"  and  which  1  had  forgotten! 


THE    END. 


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